


anything hurts less

by neptuneslight



Series: the quiet [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Jokes, Fluff, Gen, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Team Red, attempted humor, is it false advertising if i tag this with the mcu tag, liberties with canon obviously, shrugging is a real form of communication in this verse and i abuse it heavily, stealing combat from smps4 and shamelessly using it, we aint about that life, web slinging and introspection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-10-18 23:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20647184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptuneslight/pseuds/neptuneslight
Summary: Stark hasn’t said a word to Peter since he declined the invitation. Radio silence. Gloriousnothing.He knows they’re both in the wrong after how, well,everythingwent, from the ferry to the test-that-wasn’t-a-test. But that doesn’t mean he was willing to break the quiet.He also knows he needs help—bad. So instead of Iron Man, he finds (falls into, really) something better.Team Red.They’re gonna work on the name.





	1. you left me no choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright laid ease what do we do when smack dab in the middle of a depressive episode? make horrible decisions. 
> 
> so here i am. 
> 
> posting this. 
> 
> right now. 
> 
> sigh

Peter was practically buzzing with excitement (excitement, terror, who could tell the difference, right?) as he drummed his fingers against the cold concrete. 

It was two-thirty in the morning and the streets of New York were practically abandoned. The ledge of the large convention center he was crouched on was just right; high enough to be out of sight but low enough he could keep an eye on the road at all times. The only struggle was staying still. Peter felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin from all the nerves. It was his first official stakeout and he couldn’t afford to blow it, especially since he was dealing with such a big target.

“Karen,” he whispered. “Any heat signatures matching our guy yet?” He’d been there all night, waiting for a car or taxi or helicopter (unlikely, but always a possibility) to pull up to the building, but with no luck. And since it was fencing on three in the morning, Peter was starting to doubt the info he got was any good. 

“Not yet, Peter. Would you like me to run a city-wide scan for you?” The last time she did that, he swung into an eight-year-old’s birthday party with metaphorical guns blazing. Ironically enough, it was superhero themed. He politely declined and directed his gaze back towards the street.

A few minutes later, a large black van pulled up in front of the building. “Finally,” he murmured and retreated into the shadows of the ledge, just in case. 

According to Aaron, who had “connections”, Wilson Fisk would be making a special appearance tonight—his first in months. Peter _needed_ the crime boss to pop up, giving him the chance to A) attempt to stop him, or B) gather evidence for the proper authorities in case Option A fell through.

“Alright, Karen, you ready?” he asked quietly. He cracked his knuckles as the van parked, the doors starting to slide open. “That was rhetorical by the way, you don’t need to answer."

Peter sucked in a breath as dark figures started to climb out. It was frustratingly unclear how many got out of the vehicle from this angle, and the way they moved as a unit just made it worse. By the time he thought to ask Karen to run a scan, the group was already in the building.

“Dammit,” he huffed. Peter launched himself at the wall, scrambling up the cool brick to the open window he spotted earlier in the night. The convention center had offices located in the top couple of floors, a fact Peter was _ so very grateful _for as he darted through the empty rooms. He burst into the main hallway and spotted an air duct, barely waiting for Karen’s confirmation that yes, it was a central duct, before ripping the grate off and climbing into the vents.

He started off in the general direction of the main conference room, the place where Fisk would supposedly show up, crawling as quickly as he could on his hands and knees. “Well, this is less than dignified,” Peter sighed, and then immediately smashed his head into the top of the vent. “Okay- _ ow.” _

Peter reached a fork in the vents after another minute or two, both which happened to be leading in opposite directions. “Uh, Karen? Which way to the central conference room?”

It was silent for a moment, then she responded quietly, borderline dejected. “I’m sorry, Peter. It seems my sensors are being diverted. I can not supply you with any useful information at this time."

He stopped. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I-. Okay. Okay, we can get through this.” He nodded his head, trying to convince himself more than the A.I. There were only two options; that meant it was a fifty-fifty on choosing right. Peter cursed and ducked left, hoping he got lucky and chose the right path. He _ really _ should’ve planned better.

He tried to go as fast as he could through the air space, at one point digging his toes into the metal beneath him, bunching his legs up, and pushing himself along. Peter glanced through the grates he would occasionally pass, but they all led into either more office spaces or hallways. “Come on, come on come on come on,” he whispered to himself.

Minutes passed before he finally came upon one that led into a large, open room. Peter stopped, sagging in relief. “Oh, yes. Thank God,” Peter said and picked his head up. “Not today, Parker luck. Shove it."

He wiggled forward enough so the top half of his chest was resting on the slated metal. Sticking his fingers to the grate, he pushed down hard with one hand, making sure he didn’t drop it with the other. The screws gave out without much noise, and Peter plopped the grate on the opposite side of the now-open hole. 

Peter stuck his head out first, scouting for vantage points, and when he zeroed in on the large rafters at the other end of the room, he scuttled across the ceiling. He tucked himself in the junction of the metal, sitting against one and grabbing on to the other for stability. 

“Are your sensors back up, Karen?” 

“No, Peter, not yet."

Peter nodded, already expecting the answer. He would honestly be a little disappointed by was anything else—after all, Kingpin was the “most feared of all New York." 

Taking it into his own hands, he first scanned the room. Exposed rafters spanned half of the ceiling, and aside from the stage, the room was completely bare, no chairs or tables or booths anywhere to be found. There was a wall that separated the conference halls, but a large cathedral-style opening acted as a doorway between the two. Unfortunately, Peter was too high up to see any more than ten feet into the next room.

There was nothing that helped him visually determine whether or not he was in the right place, so he tried to use his ears. Peter listened in, closing his eyes and focusing on the sounds to see if Fisk was in the next room over. But the only thing he could pick up was light, padded, nearly silent footsteps. Peter stilled, slight panic coming over him as his spider sense pinged at the back of his neck. This most definitely did _ not _ sound like Fisk. 

A few seconds passed before someone crossed into his view, slinking along the walls and stopping just before the arched doorway. Peter’s shoulders tensed unwillingly, and he tightened his grip on the metal. “What the...” he muttered, caught completely off-guard. “Okay. This is new. This is a new development.”

The figure’s head snapped up, twisting towards where Peter was hidden in the rafters. Even though he knew he was practically invisible, he sank further into the shadows, _ oh shit _ repeating itself in his mind. With a closer look, he could see the horns protruding from the head of the new guy, and recognition flickered to life in Peter. _ Daredevil. _ He’d heard a lot about the fellow vigilante, most of it... not good. 

“Well,” he whispered as Daredevil turned away and continued walking, “it could be worse. It could be ol’ Shocker."

“You are correct, Peter. It could be much worse. Would you like me to compile a full list of your adversaries?” 

“No thanks, Karen. I’m okay."

Peter quickly followed the man into the connected room, lowering himself on a web until he was close enough to start reaching for the ledge. He swung back and forth until his fingertips just brushed the plaster, but that was all he needed for them to glue on. 

In that moment, he became overly conscious about how weird he must look, crawling over the walls like this. He blamed Daredevil. But no matter how stupid he looked, it was effective _ and _ stealthy. At least Peter didn’t have to run around on the ground where he was more likely to be busted. 

He was back on the ceiling, scuttling less-than-gracefully towards the rafters. He scrabbled up the metal beams until he was back upright, and jumped from cross-section to cross-section until he was as close to the corner as he could get. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter spotted Daredevil hurriedly ducking behind the pile of stacked chairs pushed against the far wall, surprisingly quiet. Peter’s eyebrow popped up, slightly confused by the man’s behavior.

At least, he was until he picked up the almost inaudible footsteps padding through the same room he just left. 

Peter flattened himself against the rafters, his neck tingling painfully. His heart rate sped up unwillingly, adrenaline pumping through him. This was it; these people had to be the ones coming out of the van. This _ had _ to be Wilson, so he _ had _ to be ready. 

Peter’s muscles tensed as someone emerged from the dark doorway, and then surprise hit him like a sack of bricks. 

The person was fairly large in stature, but nothing close to the large, hulking body of the guy he was hoping for. The man had a dark balaclava that led into the tight black shirt and looser pants, and a large sword strapped to his back. He picked a walkie-talkie out of his belt once he reached the center of the room, but Peter couldn’t make out what he whispered into the radio. He watched with wide eyes as a stream of sleek figures followed. None were quite as large as who Peter now dubbed as Big Ninja. They were all dressed from head to toe in the black clothes, their outfits blurring into each other and into the background. Peter could make out an assortment of katanas and guns strapped to their backs, some miscellaneous knives strapped to their thighs and belts. 

“Holy…” He trailed off in the middle of his sentence, the utter confusion causing his brain to short-circuit. He was told _ Fisk _ would be here, not a bunch of… of _ ninjas. _ “What the hell _ is _ this?”

“There is nothing in my database that matches the uniforms or weapons supplied to the suspects.” Karen relayed automatically. 

One of the ninjas broke out of the clump, joining Big Ninja at the front before the rest of the group stopped in front of them—he’d call him Big Ninja Two. Annoyingly enough, the group obscured the movements by Ninja One and Two, which seemed to be the way they were communicating based on the total lack of sound. 

All of a sudden, the group broke apart, scattering throughout the room. Peter’s heart jumped into his throat at the abruptness of it all, and his breath caught as he remembered the other, ground-level hero in the room. 

He whipped around just in time to see Daredevil move. He tried to shift away from the chairs as subtly as he could, and Peter could only watch in horror as he whacked an elbow into the stack instead. The top chair toppled off of the stack, slamming into the floor with a bang. 

Everyone in the room froze. 

_ “Shit,” _ Peter swore vehemently and quickly shot a web to the other end of the room. It served its purpose as a quick distraction, the ninjas under him swiveling around and giving him time to drop to the floor. Peter rolled over his shoulder, popping to his feet directly beside Daredevil before the ninjas spun and rushed at them. It seems the vigilante used the distraction to his advantage, too. 

“Daredevil.” Peter tried for nonchalant, failing spectacularly when his voice cracked as he caught a punch. He threw the fist aimed at his head to the side and used the momentum to his advantage, sliding under the ninja’s legs before sweeping them out from under him. He quickly webbed the guy to the ground. 

“Butt out of this, Spider-Man,” he growled and jumped out of the way of Big Ninja’s sword. 

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Peter grunted, and ducked away from the two new ninjas coming up from behind. This time he took a solid kick to the stomach before managing to get a hold on one, giving him a solid push into the other. The pair stumbled across the floor, and Peter barely had enough time to plaster them against the wall before more attacked. 

“Hey, you might wanna _ watch out, _ man!” He yelled and shot a web at the feet of the dude trying to attack Daredevil from the back. He yanked back and jumped on top of the ninja, punching him hard once, twice across the jaw and feeling him go limp. 

“Nice meeting you, too,” he said, patting the padded chest of the ninja underneath him as he caught his breath.

Peter’s neck twinged, and he didn’t even bother turning around before springing to his feet, aiming for the ceiling, and pulling himself up with his web. But he wasn’t fast enough to completely dodge, and a bullet grazed his left calf. He grunted as he slammed into the ceiling, but didn’t let the pain distract him for any more than a second. Peter used the ceiling as a springboard to immediately throw himself back at the attackers, using his whole body as a battering ram and not really caring how he knocked them down. 

“Oh my God that was fucking awesome,” he whispered to himself and had to force down the urge to laugh at the image of bowling pins in his head. 

He hopped up from the fall just to duck again, narrowly avoiding a knife one of the ninjas pulled. He grabbed the man’s wrist and tore the weapon out of his hand before tossing it over his shoulder. Peter kicked his knees, sending the guy tumbling to the floor. He webbed the ninja’s limbs to the ground, just in time to see Big Ninja feint a right slash to come around and whack Daredevil on the back of his head with the butt of his sword. Daredevil went down hard. 

“Daredevil!” Peter yelled and darted towards the man. He shoved through a mob of ninjas, swinging elbows into faces and knees into guts, dodging shots in the process. 

He kneeled and planted his hands under Daredevil’s pits. He pulled hard, jumping back up and fluidly pulling an arm over his shoulders. Peter groaned slightly, the weight not easy to carry, especially when he was pressing on the bruises spreading over his ribs. But he shot a web at the ceiling and swung through the doorway into the room he first came out in, holding tight to Daredevil’s midsection. He ended up just far enough to get a head start on the new ninjas that were sprinting after them.

Peter ran as fast as he could with the unconscious vigilante leaning against him, ignoring the burning in his leg and tripping over the dragging feet as he rounded the corner into a forked hallway. He growled frustratedly as he was forced to a stop. “Karen?! A little help?” 

“I’m sorry, Peter. Whatever is scrambling my sensors still seems to be activated.”

He groaned. “You know, that was cute the first couple of times, but now it’s just annoying.”

So he was running blind. Awesome. 

Peter bolted to the right, taking his chances. He readjusted the limp body that was slowly slipping, wrapping an arm around his waist and jerking him back up. His mind raced, debating the pros and cons of lugging Daredevil around to his back and carrying him like that. 

Suddenly red light from an emergency exit sign caught his peripheral and Peter skidded to a halt. He’d barely had time to stop before his ribs took the brunt of Daredevil’s weight, leaving him gasping and winded. But the yells from down the hall were getting closer, so he quickly shook his head and desperately flung the unconscious man to his back. Peter charged towards the door, stumbling slightly under the weight before righting himself.

"Okay, come on, man. Wake up wake up wake up,” he muttered repeatedly as the exit got closer and closer, heart pounding in his chest. 

Peter yelped as he burst through the metal door and barreled off the landing of the stairs outside, struggling to keep his grip on Daredevil. He screamed as he fell, _"Don't wake up!",_ barely whipping a hand out in time to shoot a web to keep the pair from smashing into the concrete of the alley below. 

The plummet jolted Daredevil awake— which was an issue because as soon as he came to he immediately punched Peter across the face. The force popped Peter’s jaw, and the pain was enough to make him lose grip on the web. Before he knew it, they were both falling. Peter flailed, trying to shoot a web and save himself. 

He was too slow. His breath left him in a sharp whine as he hit the ground hard. White clouded his vision, ears ringing and entire body stinging with the impact. Peter could only lay on the gravel, stunned, until his lungs finally started working again and he gasped deeply. 

He groaned, faintly nauseous, and desperately tried to push himself up. His hands slipped twice before he sat up, curled over and wheezing. Peter hissed when the loose rocks stuck to the graze on his leg but struggled to his feet. swaying slightly as he looked around. 

At least they landed on a rooftop. The damage would’ve been way worse if they hit the street. 

He shook his head to clear the remaining white spots, only to lock eyes with Daredevil directly after. The pair froze, just watching each other before Daredevil suddenly turned and ran. Peter started as the other man jumped down by the fire escape, but he was just a bit too disoriented to follow. 

Peter threw his arms up. “You’re _ welcome!” _ he yelled after him. “Jesus. Save a dude’s life and you don’t even get a _ thank you. _ This is the world we live in,” he grumbled to himself and shot a web at the top of one of the buildings before swinging off the rooftop. 

He made his way home as quickly as he could, not really sure if he was going the right way due to how his head was spinning and his body aching. Luckily enough, he recognized the neighborhood he was in, and it wasn’t too far from the apartment. 

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open after the adrenaline crash, but a couple minutes later he was sticking his hands to his window pane and sliding it up as quietly as he could. May would _ kill _ him if she found out he was out this late. 

Peter tripped into his room, foot snagging on the window sill, before switching his lamp light on and shutting the window. He smacked the spider emblem on his chest, walking towards his bed as the suit deflated around him. He quickly shucked it off his arms and kicked it away from his legs as he stumbled to the small stock of gauze he kept under his desk. Wrapping it loosely around his leg, he gently placed a piece of tape to keep it on the wound. 

Peter couldn’t even be bothered to put on any other clothes before crashing on his bed. He didn’t even wait a full minute before he was dead asleep.

His alarm went off far too soon. Peter groaned, rolling over and smacking his phone until the annoying sound stopped. He glanced at the time and sighed heavily, wiping his eyes. Just five more-

Shit. Peter sat up violently, the time finally registering. _ Shit. _ He’d overslept.

Peter stumbled through his morning in a frenzied daze, barely remembering to wash the shampoo out of his hair before he turned the water off in the shower. Peter pulled on his clothes as fast as humanly possible before practically falling out of the bathroom. He skidded into the kitchen, nearly colliding with May on his way to the bagels.

“Whoa there, Pete,” she laughed. “Late night last night?” 

He nodded guiltily, an apology blurting from him as he smothered two of the three bagels in cream cheese.

May swatted him on his arm, giving him a disapproving look that screamed _ curfew! _ It melted away after a moment, and she said, “Well, you better get going, honey. You’re gonna be late if you don’t leave soon.”

He nodded again and stuffed one of the bagels in his mouth whole. Peter swiped his backpack off the counter with his bagel-free hand and quickly wrapped an arm around May for a quick hug, getting a light kiss on the forehead before jumping towards the door.

“Have a good day, sweetheart. And Peter?” He froze, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding the precariously stacked bagels. “Your shirt’s on backwards.”

Peter blinked before dropping everything on the floor and quickly switching his shirt around. “Thanks, May,” he said around the food in his mouth. He flashed a wide, goofy smile to May as he picked his stuff up and gave a double thumbs-up before bolting out the front door. 

Peter ditched the subway this time, choosing to sprint to school instead. It was faster, and he was already behind schedule as it is. He scarfed down the rest of his breakfast on the way. 

He barely made it to first period before the late bell, sliding through the door with a pointed look from the teacher. 

Luckily they were wrapping up the unit they’d been stuck on for a while, so it didn’t really matter that MJ was apparently absent today. Too bad. She was the only source of entertainment he ever got in his first period since Ned wasn’t in that class. Peter took the chance to sleep through the class and didn’t even bother to hide it, either. He was exhausted, and there was no life where differential calculus wouldn’t put him to sleep, even on a good day. 

The day leading up to the end of fourth period was a total blur. He just napped through most of those blocks, scribbling down what notes he could in between the short bursts of sleep. The lunch bell finally rang, and Peter could barely read his writing when he was putting his notebooks back in his backpack. He couldn't bring himself to care—Ned would let him copy his later. 

He rubbed at his eyes as he went through the hallway solely on muscle memory. It was pizza day, the busiest day in the lunchrooms, so there was no purpose in rushing to the line just to sit in it for ten minutes. Peter nearly crashed into a girl carrying a poster board in the hall, and he blamed that on exhaustion. 

Peter’s nose wrinkled as he walked into the cafeteria. The smell was horrendous, and he wanted nothing more than to stuff car fresheners up his nostrils whenever he entered and call it good. 

Fortunately, the lines weren’t too long, and he managed to swipe a pre-wrapped sandwich off the cart. He dropped it on his tray and picked up a bottle of water before paying at the register. 

Peter plopped down at their usual table, hitting his tray against the table just a bit too hard. He snatched his water bottle out of the air before it fell, quickly glancing around after to check if anyone saw as Ned sat down across from him. 

“So how’d the bug inspection go last night?” Ned asked excitedly.

Peter frowned. _ “Dude.” _

“What? I figured it’s better than just saying Spider-Man out loud.”

He grinned at that and started unwrapping his sandwich as he talked. “It was pretty crazy, actually. So you know how I’m looking into the whole Wilson Fisk thing?” He took a bite as Ned nodded, and continued after swallowing. “I got some intel Friday after school, so I decided I’d check it out, right? Well, eventually this big car pulled up in front of the building I was staking out and this whole _ thing,” _ he waved a hand in the air, “happened-. Anyways, I got further in, totally expecting to see Kingpin, the Big Bad, but no.”

Peter paused for the full dramatic effect. “It was a bunch of ninjas.” 

Ned’s face went from confused to surprised to excited and back again before he stifled a laugh. “Ninjas?” He was incredulous. 

“Yeah. And Daredevil.”

_“Daredevil?” _

"Dude, it was crazy. He accidentally knocked a chair over so all the ninjas started attacking us—they’re really good fighters, by the way, some of the best I’ve ever seen—and we fought them together. But then he got hit on the head so I had to drag him out before the two of us got overrun.” Peter made a face.

“You _ saved Daredevil’s life? _ Peter, that’s _ insane. _He’s practically in the big leagues,” Ned whisper-yelled. 

His excitement was contagious, and Peter found himself smiling. “Well, ‘saved his life’ is kind of a stretch. But I was pretty surprised to see him there at all, really.”

“Why?”

“I’m not really sure. Guess I just thought he’d have other, more important things to do.” 

“What if that was the ‘other, more important thing,’ though?” 

Peter looked up sharply. “What?”

Ned leaned forward, lunch forgotten and using his hands as he talked. 

“What if, Kingpin was never going to be there to begin with? Or, he and these new guys are collaborating to, like, take over New York or something? _ Or, _ the ninjas are actually some sort of cult that kidnapped Kingpin and are using him to spread their influence?” 

He paused. 

“Okay, that last one was kind of a stretch. But think about it, Peter! Doesn’t it make sense? Daredevil was obviously there for a reason, and I don’t think it was a coincidence you both happened to be at the same building on the same night at the _ same time _ as each other. Something’s up,” he finished and leaned back into his chair. 

“So you think I somehow came across the ‘secret of the century’ or something while trying to gather evidence on a mob boss?” Peter questioned flatly. 

Ned raised his hands in surrender. “Dude, just throwing it out there.”

“I mean, it’s not like crazier things haven’t happened,” Peter admitted. “I just don't know, man. Even Karen didn't know who they were. It’s gotta be super underground or something if there wasn’t anything in her database about it,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Why don’t you just ask Mr. Stark? I’m sure he has to have _ some _ idea.” Ned took a bite out of his apple, thankfully missing the way Peter stiffened at the suggestion. 

“No, he’s... busy, man. You know how it is.” Peter stood up, shrugging his backpack on and tossing his trash in the bin. “I’m going to head to the library to get a start on the paper for Mr. Wright’s class. Do you want to come?”

“Right behind you.”

Peter waited patiently for Ned to pack up before walking down the hall together, already talking about Gatsby and the shallowness of the American Dream. 

Wade strolled into the granny-style deli whistling with his hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. It was a nice day, no need to sweat it out in leather and spandex. He took a seat at a table close to the door and waited, scanning over the menu twice before leaning back into his chair. 

It wasn’t long before an uptight-looking man in a business suit sat across from him, propping a leather monogrammed briefcase up on the wall beside him. He briskly opened it, taking out a small pile of papers and giving Wade time to inspect his black-rimmed glasses, impeccably managed hair, and wrinkle-lined mouth. Oh, yeah, he knew this type. He hated this type. 

The dude smoothed the papers onto the table before looking at Wade for the first time. If he was surprised at all by his appearance, he didn’t show it. Then again, the frown seemed to be perpetual. The pair just looked at each other silently before Wade finally spoke. 

“So, you buying?”

The guy glared balefully at him before waving a waitress over. Wade quickly rattled off his order, ignoring the way the woman stared at him. 

The quiet persisted until Wade’s sandwich was brought out, but he was perfectly content waiting stock still and silent. He lived to make these pretentious assholes squirm. Wade slowly bit into his lunch, keeping eye contact the entire time. The man in front of him shuddered faintly and he fought off the satisfied smirk. 

“Let’s just get to business, shall we?” The lackey said with a pinched expression and clipped words. 

Wade spread his hands wide, giving the illusion of compliance at his words. 

“Your target is an interesting case, to say the least. He managed to incapacitate more than half a squadron of the most finely trained stealth operatives to hit New York. There’s a slight possibility it was luck, but we can’t afford any... distractions. We need him eliminated. You’ll get your money when you bring us proof of death.” 

“Okay, then-” Wade paused, peering down at the embroidery on the leather case, “-Wesley. Let’s get to it. Show me what Big Man’s got.”

“Here’s the amount you would be paid.” Said man slid a small sheet of paper across the table. Wade took one look at the price and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “And here,” He dropped a thin folder, which he assumed was the target’s profile, beside Wade’s sandwich. “is your target.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and let it fall to the side before brushing his hands off on his thighs. Wade picked the light folder up and flicked it open. 

There was one word typed in bold letters across the top. 

**Spider-Man.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter parker swears and you are deluding yourself if you think otherwise. THIS is the rock that i will die on. 
> 
> ok stream all for us by labrinth and zendaya see you in a week


	2. growing distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a aphist test tomorrow that i haven't even studied for and... i probably wont..... study..... later....... either.........
> 
> I'm going to fail that class. :).

Peter came to a stop on top of a grungy, run-down Walgreens on 234th. He tiredly made his way to the edge, taking a seat on the ledge facing out into an alley. 

He sighed and flopped onto his back, his hands cushioning his head. The sky was dark, but the clouds brought grey highlights to it as they passed over the city. Peter sighed again. 

“Is everything alright, Peter?” Karen asked, her voice pleasantly quiet in his ear. 

“Yeah, Karen, I’m fine. ‘M just tired.” He propped himself up on his elbows so he was staring at the streets. "And bored. Who would’ve guessed Wednesdays are the slow ones.”

“Do you want to play a game? I can pull something up if you want. Go fish? Checkers?”

Peter shook his head. “No thanks. Good idea, though. Maybe later.” He pushed himself to his feet and paced back and forth just for something to do, balancing haphazardly on the very edge of the roof. It was hard to believe he ever had a fear of heights—of the fall, really. But falling wasn’t scary, not anymore. 

All of a sudden, a new screen popped up in his HUD, light green surrounding the image. Cotton filled his mouth and every muscle in his body tensed as he read the words, and the sick feeling only grew when Karen announced, “Mr. Stark is calling you.”

Words stuck to his tongue the first try. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way his heart pounded in his chest. “Decline it. Please. Don’t let him force it through, either,” he muttered roughly. 

Karen complied, the notification flashing red before sliding away. Not a full minute had passed before it was replaced with the same thing. 

“It appears he won’t take no for an answer. Shall I accept the call this time?”

“No!” he all but yelled. “No, just- just tell him I’m busy, and I-I can’t talk right now.”

“Are you okay, Peter? Your heart rate is too fast to be considered normal, and you seem to be having trouble breathing,” Karen asked, voice quiet and concerned. 

His legs buckled and he dropped into a low crouch, burying his face in his hands. “Yeah, I’m fine.” A weak, unconvincing laugh accompanied him as he said, “Just tired, remember?”

Karen was silent, and Peter was almost positive she was staring him down. “Alright,” she said grudgingly before her tone lightened into something lighter. “But if you want to talk about it at any time, I’m always here.”

Caring, he realized. That’s what was in her voice. 

The tight grip on his chest loosened at that. Peter ignored the pinprick of tears as he pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes before lifting his head. “Love you, Karen,” he murmured softly. 

“I love you too, Peter.”

He stayed there for a couple of moments, just trying to recover from his almost-panic-attack. When he finally got his breathing calmed, he rolled backwards and popped up on his feet. Peter rolled his shoulders out before pulling an arm across his body, stretching the muscle out that way, too. He took a couple of deep breaths just to prove to himself he could. 

He jolted as another notification popped up. “Peter, it seems you have another call coming through.”

A small smile darted across his lips as he read the name, and he didn’t hesitate in asking her to accept it.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Aunt May’s cheery voice flooded through the speakers. 

“Hey, May. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know work is sending me out again.” There was a pause and the sound of rustling before she continued. “This time it’s to New Hampshire.” 

Peter’s smile dropped slightly as sadness settled over him. He did his best to shake it off; he knew she only worked overtime like this to provide for him. 

“I hate to leave like this, especially since you’re on break this week. I was really looking forward to some quiet time with you, kiddo, but it’s only for a few days—nothing more than a week. But I have to leave soon and I don’t think you’ll make it back in time for goodbyes, so I just decided to call you instead.”

He swallowed harshly, ignoring the disappointment in his chest. “That’s fine, May, really. I’ll probably stay with Ned for a while if I get too bored,” he said as lightly as he could. 

“Okay, sweetie, that sounds fine. Just text me if you do. I’ll try to call as often as I can, yeah?” she reassured. May sounded regretful, and that just made Peter feel worse. 

“Yeah. Have fun, May. Well, as much fun as you can have on a business trip without me,” he joked.

She laughed at that. “I will, honey, don’t worry about me. Just do me a favor, Pete—don’t spend too much time out in the suit?”

A short pause followed as he between them as he read between the lines, hearing the  _ don’t get yourself hurt _ loud and clear.

Karen broke in softly before he could answer. “Peter, I hate to interrupt, but someone’s running down the alley. It could be a situation that requires your full attention.”

Peter blew a light raspberry. “May, I have to go,” he said quietly. “Uh, something came up. Probably another mugger or something. Have a safe trip, I love you.”

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart. Be careful. I love you too.” The end of call tone beeped as the call dropped. 

Peter twitched at the sound of footsteps charging down the pavement reverberating through the alley. He dropped away from the edge, slinking out of sight towards the middle of the roof. The steps slowed the closer the got to him and he peered into the alley. A flash of relief shot through him as he caught sight of the familiar face. As much of it as he could see, that is. 

“Karen, is that- am I seeing this right?” He asked jokingly. “Is that the man himself, the one and only Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, in  _ Queens?” _

Daredevil stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly to stare up at Peter, not saying a word.

“Well, the profile and heat signatures match. So does the apparent lack of manners. So I’d say yes, you are correct Peter."

Peter bit back a laugh. 

“Yo, Double D!” he hollered and waved his arms at him. 

“Don’t call me that.” Daredevil frowned and sprinted forward a few steps before stopping again.

Peter shrugged. “I like it." He hopped from one ledge to the next to keep up with the start-and-stop pace of the other man. “Who were those people from the other night?”

“I don’t have time for this,” he growled. It was a very intimidating growl. Too bad Peter grew up with a police officer. 

Daredevil took off again, this time stopping at an alley corner a few hundred feet down. Peter followed behind him, not letting his attitude deter him. He watched demurely as Double D swiped two fingers over the ground before bringing them to his face, and Peter's nose wrinkled involuntarily as he watched him smell it. 

“Okay, but while you’re here… doing your thing,” he said with a slight grimace, “I would really appreciate your help.”

He was ignored. Daredevil straightened and turned in a slow circle where he stood, giving no sign he was paying any attention to what Peter was saying.

“I was looking for Kingpin. Not the- the ninja people,” he blurted.

Daredevil froze. Peter jumped on the opportunity, thinking this was as close to listening as he was going to get.

“I have a- I have a source, and he told me Kingpin would be at that conference center that night, so I wasn’t really expecting anyone else, even you. I’m trying to build a case on him, an exposé type of thing, since, you know, most of the general public seems to think he’s actually doing good for New York when it’s really the exact opposite. But whatever. I just, I wasn’t expecting to see ninjas? And it seemed like you knew who they were, and it  _ kinda _ seemed like you were expecting them. Expecting to fight them. Or you were looking for Kingpin, too, and my friend was just way off-base. I just need some help here, man, and it seems like you know what’s going-”

His rambling was cut off when the other vigilante rushed off with no explanation. Very true to brand. Peter groaned exasperatedly, and then reluctantly followed via web-slinging. He was not giving this up. Without answers, that is. 

Peter kept up the fast pace with relative ease, only losing Daredevil twice the whole trip. The pace eventually slowed down, and Peter came to a halt on a rooftop as his trackee finally stopped at some docks. Daredevil didn’t seem too fazed by the long run, and he couldn't help but wonder if Double D was enhanced or just extremely in shape. 

Peter could infer he was looking for something, or someone, and he got his answer when a nearby door banged shut. 

A tall man walked into the dull lights, a crooked nose and a split lip obvious even Peter’s angle. Most notably was the familiar white skull painted across the front of his tactical vest and assault rifle held loosely in his arms. 

“Red.” The Punisher greeted. He lifted the gun strap over his head and slipped it on before swinging it around his shoulder so it rested on his back. 

Double D was silent.

“I’m not helpin’, Red. If that’s what you want, find it somewhere else. Got my own shit to take care of.” 

Double D growled at him. The Punisher didn’t look impressed either. 

“I’m serious, Red. Don’t care what you’ve got goin’ on right now.

“Come on, Castle. I’m not asking.” He took a step closer, and Peter saw The Punisher’s hand twitch towards the weapon on his back. Peter leaned forward slightly, his weight balanced over his toes in case he needed to intervene. “Whatever it is, this is bigger."

“Did you go fuckin’ deaf, too? Said I got my own shit.” 

Too? Peter was thrown. Why in the world would he say ‘too’?

Daredevil stalked right up to him and shoved him. Punisher didn’t even budge. He just shook his head slowly, solidifying his whole “I’ll help you over my dead body” stance.

Double D didn’t like that. 

“Asshole,” Double D snapped.

“Criminal.”

“Murderer.”

“Liar.”

“Psychopath.”

“Hypocrite.”

Peter watched the exchange intently, head snapping back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. Instead of hurling another insult at Punisher, Double D muttered something so quiet Peter missed it, but loud enough to set the other man off. 

“Okay, you listen here, you son of a bitch,” Punisher roared and marched forward, pointing a finger at Double D’s chest.

That was apparently all the provocation he needed to take matters into his own hands, jumping on The Punisher and bringing him to the ground. He got maybe two punches in before Punisher flipped them over and landed a few blows himself. But Daredevil threw a hard right hook and knocked him off of him. The pair lurched to their feet, facing each other like boxers in a ring. 

Double D attacked first, feinting left before doing some flip-spin-judo kick that sent The Punisher staggering back. He righted himself before hitting back hard in retaliation, fist connecting to the side of Daredevil’s helmet with a loud crack. 

Daredevil used the momentum of the punch to his advantage, falling to the side and sinking to the ground before rolling behind Punisher. He drove a hard kick above the back of his knees, snarling. 

The Punisher stumbled forward, and when he turned back around to face Double D, a harsh, slightly feral grimace was set on his face. Peter rolled his eyes as The Punisher ripped the gun off his back and reloaded it. Typical. Daredevil returned the gesture, pulling something of his own from his belt and snapping it out. It was… a stick? Baton? Whatever it was, Peter seriously doubted its safety. 

“Whoa, okay, alright!” Peter yelled and sprang to his feet, putting his hands up in a referee position. Both men looked up at him in surprise. “That’s enough.” From his spot on the roof, he shot a clump of webbing between the two. It stuck to the wall, exactly centered. It was as much as a warning shot as he would give. “I’m all for working out personal issues, but it should be with, you know, actual communication? Words? Ring a bell, anyone?"

They both glanced at each other like they couldn’t even believe he was interrupting. 

Double D cracked first, folding his baton in half and jamming it back in his belt. “Castle,” He spat blood from the side of his mouth before gesturing to where Peter was perched. "Spider-Man. Spider-Man, this is Frank Castle.”

Peter waved down at Mr. Castle only to get a frown in return. “Why’d’ya bring a fuckin’ kid, Red, huh? Think this’s some sorta joke?”

Double D scowled. “I didn’t bring him. He’s not a kid.”

Mr. Castle quirked an eyebrow and stared up at Peter. He resisted the urge to shrink away. 

“Whatever you say,” Frank said sarcastically. He turned back to Double D. “I’m still not helpin’. And it seems like you got your own backup anyway.” He tilted his head towards Peter. “What’d’ya need me for.”

Daredevil glowered but didn’t try to stop him as he stomped back to the building he came from. 

Peter had to hold back his laughter. He looked like a kid that was just told no, he can’t have a puppy because they already had one. And it peed everywhere. 

“As much as I  _ majorly _ disapprove, that was  _ so cool,” _ Peter said as he swung down. “I definitely didn’t get to see much of that Sunday night. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“Long story,” Double D said briskly and folded his arms over his chest. 

Peter just nodded, accepting the horribly vague answer. “Okay, man. Cool. I respect that.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell, and Peter awkwardly pointed over his shoulder. “Uh, nice meeting you. Again. But I, uh, I gotta go, it’s a school night and I’m already past curfew.”

“A... school night,” Daredevil repeated slowly. 

Fuck. Peter’s heart dropped to his stomach. He tried to cover his panic with a smile. “Uh, yeah, I- I just meant that-”

“How old  _ are _ you?”

“Um, I go to college?” It came out more like a question than an answer. 

“Yeah, right, kid. And I’ve seen Madonna in concert.” Daredevil took a few steps closer, and Peter’s back hit the wall as he tried to back away. “Try the truth this time. How old are you?”

Peter looked down, his face hot. “I turned sixteen a few months ago.”

Double D stopped. Peter looked up to see him with his head cocked to the side, seemingly looking him up and down. He hummed in understanding after a minute. “And I’ll guess people keep saying you’re too young for this.”

“You’re not?” he said sharply, brow furrowing. 

Double D shrugged. “No,” he said simply. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Why should I think you’d listen to me, of all people?”

Peter stared. This was... new. A small smile crossed his lips slowly, and he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right, I wouldn't.”

Daredevil smiled back—well, it was more of a mild upturn of the lips, something very MJ—but Peter was still caught off guard at how unnatural the expression seemed. The other vigilante seemed so doom and gloom up till then, both in the media and outside.

Peter climbed up the wall to the roof but so he could swing off, but he was stopped by a “Hey!” from behind him. He watched as Daredevil scaled the dumpsters onto the roof, but didn’t offer any help. It’d been made abundantly clear that it would be rejected immediately anyways. 

“Friday night,” he said when he was on his feet in front of Peter. “Fogwell’s Gym. 9:30. And how about that, it’s not even a school night.” He smirked. “I’ll answer your questions, give you some tips. Bring the suit.”

A wide grin split Peter’s face. “Really?” he asked, already excited. 

“Yeah, really.” Double D awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve got potential, kid. I just want to make sure you don’t get yourself killed out there.” 

Peter beamed even harder at that, even though it sounded vaguely patronizing. “I’ll be there.” He saluted loosely before taking a running start at the ledge, jumping off catching himself with a web. 

Karen said something about heading home for the night, and Peter was hoping on doing exactly that. There was nothing over the police scanners, nothing happening in the buildings or on the streets he swung over. He could take the rest of the night off. 

He made it two blocks before he became aware of the vague feeling that someone was following him. He tried to dismiss it, but he couldn’t completely ignore the low buzz accompanying him as he got closer and closer to his house. 

Peter let go of his web a few streets from his house, tuck-and-rolling onto the pavement. He ducked behind a familiar dumpster and ripped his backpack off of the wall before changing out of his suit as quickly as possible, still on edge for a reason he couldn’t quite place. He stuffed his suit into the bag and slung it over his shoulders, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he stepped onto the sidewalk. 

He barely made it a few steps before the base of his neck prickled and unease slowed him down. Peter stiffened, his shoulders rising defensively as his senses sharpened, trying to pick out what was tripping his spider sense. 

An instinct deep inside caused him to sidestep into an alleyway and quickly hid behind the corner of the wall. Peter flattened himself, pressing his body against the cold brick and breathing shallowly. His heart was beating so hard he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. 

Not even seconds later, a dark, large figure stalked through the street. Peter’s hands shook, his spider sense so overwhelmingly intense it nearly drove him up the wall. But something told him to stay still. That if he moved, he would be found. And that same something told him he didn’t want to be found. 

The figure prowled by the mouth of the alley, so close he could reach out and touch them if he wanted. A dull shine caught his eye as the figure extended his arm, and his breath caught when he realized what is was—a blade. 

The person stopped abruptly, and every muscle in Peter’s body froze. 

His eyes darted down to where the knives were gripped between the figure’s hands. He watched as the fingers flexed, tightening over the leather bases. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run but forced himself to stay stock still. Peter clenched his teeth, overwhelmed by the feeling that the person was searching—hunting—for someone. Him.

What felt like hours passed before the figure started again, continuing the silent sweep of the streets they were doing before. Peter stayed in the alley minutes after they left, trying to reign in his terror. His legs were numb, and he knew the only reason he was still standing was his hands stuck to the wall. 

“Karen,” he breathed. “Who  _ was _ that?”

“I… don’t know, Peter. I couldn’t get a facial scan. I’m very sorry,” she answered dolefully.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “They’re gone though, right?”

“Yes, the person in question seems to have left the vicinity, but I’m afraid they’re now located on the street in front of your apartment.”

Peter exhaled sharply at that, eyes snapping back open as he had a mild heart attack. His mind was racing. Whoever that was, they had been following him. And now… now they were at his apartment. His home. The place where he and May slept at night. 

God.  _ May.  _ Relief washed over him, and he was so, so grateful for the small mercy that was her leaving earlier that night.

Did they know his name? His face? Peter tried to be so careful about it. Could he really have made that big of a mistake? No, no there was no way. He could count the number of people who knew his identity on one hand. 

And there was the possibility that the person  _ didn’t _ know his address, that they just knew the general vicinity. He couldn’t risk giving their address away. He wouldn’t put May in danger like that. 

Peter had learned to trust his spider sense. And right now, it was telling him to get the hell away as fast as he can- and stay away. 

Peter bolted out of the alley and down the road, almost slipping on a wet patch around the corner. He ran as fast as he could, a bruise forming on his spine where his backpack was banging against him. One, two, three blocks passed before he slowed down, panting as he looked up at a familiar apartment complex.

He burst through the doors and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. Peter made it up the three flights and was pounding on the first door on the left in the hallway in less than a minute. He knocked relentlessly as he caught his breath from the adrenaline-spurred trip.

Ned quickly opened the door, clad in his pajamas with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Dude, what’s going o-”

“Can I stay here tonight?” he interrupted, knowing he looked desperate. “Please. It’s important.”

Ned stared at him, slightly shell-shocked. But he snapped out of it fast, starting as he nodded his head. “Yeah. definitely. Here, come on in.” 

Ned stepped out of the doorway back into the Leeds’ apartment and Peter brushed by him, padding through the door with his eyes downcast. “Thanks, man,” he murmured and quietly made his way towards Ned’s room. 

He only relaxed when he heard the sound of the door locked and bolted shut behind him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so scared this is bland and boring so far we-
> 
> ((um also can everyone please send some love and support to the flood victims down here in texas? a lot of the folks in my town JUST got their houses completed after harvey and now it's all ruined because of imelda :( please just keep us in your thoughts ig))


	3. some revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i know the spacing is weird i'll fix it later) 
> 
> this goes out to rin-rin who said wade was gonna want to cuddle peter when he meets him

The subway groaned as it rumbled to a stop, and Peter jolted awake as the train gave a final spurt of movement before the doors pinged and slid open, the metal grating against itself. 

He picked his bag off his lap and wearily made his way off of the rancid train, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his other hand. Peter was _ tired, _ and the walk back to the surface barely helped to wake him up from his impromptu nap on the subway. 

He’d barely slept the last two days, constantly on edge in case the person from the other night found him again. Ned’s mom had been kind enough to let him stay after he spewed some half-assed excuse, mentioning that May was out of town and everything. So if his spider sense so much as tickled, he was tense and ready to fight. The last thing Peter wanted was for Ned and his family to get hurt because of him.

Peter tapped the address to Fogwell’s into his phone. It was short enough to walk, only fourteen minutes according to Google Maps, but the time seemed so _ long _ when he could make it there in half if he used his webs. 

His suit was on underneath jeans and a hoodie, but he had his mask stuffed in the pocket of the jacket. He figured the trip would be easier to make if he wasn’t making it as Spider-Man. Less hassle. Less people shouting, _ oh hey, look at this mildly popular vigilante going to a gym that’s not in Queens! _ Instead, he was just a regular looking kid on his way to a regular looking gym at a not so regular time at night. 

Peter turned a corner and almost walked passed the gym, only looking up from his feet when his phone beeped to tell him he arrived. He backtracked a few steps before coming to a stop in front of the building. None of the lights were on, so he wasn’t even sure if this was the right place, but this is what Google said and Peter can trust Google. He blew out a sharp breath and twisted the mask in his hands nervously, knuckles rubbing across the worn fabric of his hoodie and the sleekness of the mask alternately. 

He shook his head, exasperated with himself for being so anxious, and pushed through the doors into the dark gym. Ignoring the pathetic jingle that came from the bell attached to the top of the door, Peter glanced around the rows of punching bags and weight machines in hopes of catching a glimpse of that now-familiar dark red. 

“Back here,” a voice called from the far back corner. 

Peter almost jumped to the ceiling. He scrambled to pull on his mask, almost ripping the pocket off as his nerves shot through the roof. He awkwardly half-jogged (somewhat blindly) towards the corner where the voice was coming from.

Double D was leaning against a boxing ring with his arms crossed across his chest, the thick elastic bands that served as a border dipping under his weight. Peter almost did a double-take to make sure it was really him. He was wearing something completely different than his coined horns and armored suit--dark sweats, a long-sleeved shirt, and a black cowl tied around the top half of his face.

“Hey, man,” Peter greeted unsurely. Daredevil waved back, a small gesture, as Peter got closer. The atmosphere was too tense and unfriendly for his taste and Peter was eager to change it. “You know, I’m really hoping you have plans for me that don’t involve tying me to the ceiling and hitting me with a stick.”

Double D snorted. Peter took that as a win. 

“Um, I’m not trying to pry or be invasive or anything like that, but are you sure you wanna keep that on?” Peter asked meekly, pointing to the fabric covering Daredevil’s eyes. “I’m just wondering. Because, you know, it might be a little hard to see…” he trailed off, a little unnerved by the stillness of the other vigilante.

“I’m fine.” He unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the ring. “I was in an accident when I was a kid. Gave me-” His head twitched to the side unwillingly, almost like it pained him to say the rest. “-super senses, I guess you could call them.” 

Peter wasn’t sure how he didn't figure that out himself. If Double D’s senses were anything like Peter’s, the dull eyes of the Daredevil mask made a whole lot more sense. “That’s...wow. So you can, like, hear-smell-see everything in the city?” 

“Yeah. Something like that,” Double D said, his mouth twitching, and surprise swept over Peter. He apparently though _ something _ Peter said was funny, if the slight smile was anything to go by, but Peter brushed it off. 

A few seconds passed in silence. Peter fidgetted uncomfortably.

“So. Get warmed up, then we’ll start?” Double D said, turning away. 

“Yeah. Yeah, cool.” 

Peter jumped on the opportunity to _ do _something, dropping his backpack on the outside border of the ring. He stretched his shoulders and legs first, shaking out his hands when everything seemed warm. Double D was already in the boxing ring, and when he noticed Peter was done, he waved him up.

Excitement filled him as he ducked under the rubber bands Double D was holding up, but he couldn’t quite get over the anxiety biting at him. This felt much different than any day on the streets. 

Obviously, it was. He wasn’t fighting to protect himself. To keep himself from dying and all that. But he didn’t like being put under observation like this. It made him feel like he was going to mess everything up and embarrass himself, all in front of the only guy who’d offered to help him. 

“Alright, Double D, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume what happens in Fogwell’s stays in Fogwell’s,” Peter said offhandedly. He wasn’t really trying to be heard, just hoping to kill some of his nerves. 

“And _ that’s _ not gonna work.” At Peter’s confused look, he elaborated, “That ridiculous name.”

“Oookay.” Peter tried to keep the confusion out of his voice. He mostly succeeded.

Double D tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, seeming to look Peter up and down. He tried not to squirm under his scrutinizing gaze, but the way he was staring Peter down was making it very difficult. Double D eventually broke his intense, almost interrogative stare, right after Peter started quickly tapping his fingers against his thighs. 

“Matt,” he relented, a strange tone to his voice. “My name’s Matt.”

A small, self-satisfied smile spread across Peter’s face. It was pretty cool that Doubl- _ Matt _trusted him enough to give out his name. So, the least he could do was return the favor. After all, trust is a two-way street and all that. 

“Cool. I’m still probably gonna call you Double D. I’m Peter,” he rushed out. He hesitated for a second before sticking his hand out for a handshake. 

Matt stared at him like he’d grown another head. Peter dropped his arm, embarrassed. 

A beat passed before he said, “I know.” He turned and grabbed something off the pole of the ring, and when he faced Peter again, he could see it was a roll of hand wrap. 

Peter squinted, confused. “Know what?”

“Your name.” 

The way he said it was almost flippant, but it felt like a punch to the gut for Peter. The blood rushed to his head, making him slightly dizzy. “How?” he asked breathlessly. He was almost afraid of the answer, mind jumping immediately to the stalker from the alley. If Matt knew about the guy that’s been following him, could Peter trust him?

“I heard it from your A.I.—Karen was it?—on Wednesday night.” He tapped the side of his head twice, right above his right ear. “Super-hearing, remember?”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He tried not to sag too much, not wanting to show just how relieved he was at the answer. “Oh. Right.”

Matt gave him a weird look. “Alright, then.” He started wrapping his left hand as he talked. “You’re already pretty good with your webs, I know that. But you rely on them a _ lot. _ So really, we just need to build on your hand-to-hand. You won’t always have those shooters with you, or they might get broken or you run out of fluid. Our line of work isn’t predictable on the best of days, so I want to make sure you’re prepared for any situation that you could get faced with.”

Peter nodded slowly, taking in all of the information. It makes sense. He knew that his best weapons, and defense, were his webs. He also knew that he was pretty shaky on his close combat skills. “But the suit is fine? It doesn’t count as a handicap or anything?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “There’s not much that it adds that would be truly debilitating if you didn’t have it for a fight. But if there’s any way to take the web shooters themselves off, you should do that.” Matt flicked a hand towards his wrists and explained after Peter’s questioning sound. “Reflex tends to win out more often than not. Better safe than sorry, if we’re gonna do this right.”

Peter huffed lightly and nodded. He ignored the way his heart jumped as he slipped the web shooters off his wrist, dropping them over the edge and into his open backpack. 

He turned back around to see Matt in an expectant stance, and he settled in a Philly Shell stance. As soon as he nodded, Matt was a flurry of movement.

Peter managed to block the fist aimed at his jaw but couldn’t completely dodge the second, Matt’s knuckles clipping his cheek. He was totally thrown at how fast he was moving, how he seemed almost inhuman. 

Peter countered with a left jab at his throat, but by the time his arm was fully extended, Matt was already behind him. All it took was a well-placed foot to the ankle and shove to his spine for Peter to find himself on the floor. 

The bout didn’t last more than a minute. It was almost laughable how fast Double D took him down. 

“Damn,” Peter said appreciatively and a little fearfully. He was already breathing hard. 

Matt jumped right into his corrections. “First of all, start with your feet shoulder-width apart. You’re a righty, so _ this _foot,” he tapped Peter’s left toe with his own, “needs to be pointing towards me before you swing.”

Peter shuffled his feet around and looked back up. “Better?” 

“Yeah. Also, try hitting with your shoulder instead of your tricep, if that makes sense. You get more speed and power that way.”

He nodded his head quickly and tried internalizing the tips. Peter didn’t even bother questioning them, trusting Matt's advice blindly. “Round two?” he asked.

“As you wish,” Matt throws back with a sharp smile.

He was slightly more prepared this time.

Peter dodged two of Matt’s punches and rolled away from the third. When he popped back to his feet, his opponent was nowhere to be seen, and by the time his spider sense warned him, Matt was already sending Peter stumbling with a hard blow to his left shoulder blade. It would’ve sent him to the ground if it wasn’t for his sticky feet.

Peter slid to his right and came up on Matt’s left. He threw a punch in his direction, keeping the Shoulder Not Arm advice in mind, but it didn’t land completely. Matt swerved out of the way and retaliated with a big right hook to Peter’s jaw.

He hit the ground _ hard. _

“You good, kid?” Matt asked as he rolled to his back, desperately trying to get his lungs to start working again. 

Peter couldn’t tell if Matt was genuinely concerned or laughing at him.

“Am I-” His wheezing broke off, sitting up so his back was against the elastic bands of the ring. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Ready to go again?”

Peter decided it was the latter.

“Yeah. Why not,” he muttered, and used the bands to pull himself back to his feet.

“You’re getting the hang of it. It’s all just practice.” Matt was turned away, just his side profile facing him, but it was still enough to notice that his face was now completely bare. It was too dark to make out most of his features, but Peter was still shocked at the development. 

“I took it off,” he stated when he noticed Peter was frozen in place, “because it was getting hot, and there’s no reason for me to keep it on. Right?” 

There was no way he could miss the threatening tone.

“Right,” Peter squeaked. 

The third round went longer than the last two, but ended in the same result: Peter pinned by Matt.

“Oh my _ God,” _ Peter cried. “I mean, I knew I wasn’t great at fighting, but this is just- this is just _ sad.” _

Matt laughed. “Don’t worry about it, kid, you’re doing fine.” He clapped Peter on the back. “I’ve been doing this for most of my life. All things considered, you’re holding up pretty well.”

“How’d you know? That I was going to attack,” he panted.

Matt shrugged. “Your breathing changes. Your heart rate speeds up.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, disappointed in his tells. Yeah, he knew he was going to have some, everyone did, but it was still frustrating to get beat because of them.

Peter pushed himself up this time, ignoring the outstretched hand. He practically ripped his mask off his face, figuring he was safe enough around Matt, and gasped for breath. He was a weird mix between embarrassed, out of breath, and hyped on adrenaline, and it wasn’t really doing him any favors.

To be honest, he was completely surprised at the total lack of reaction Matt gave when he turned back around. All he said was, “Are you _ sure _ you’re okay? You seem a little-.” He paused and tilted his head, searching for the word. “Beat,” he finally settled.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Peter waved a hand. “Just winded.” 

“We can break,” Matt said with finality. Peter didn’t even bother trying to insist he’s okay.

Matt reached over to the edge of the ring and pulled two water bottles up. He tossed one to Peter, and he snatched it out of the air. Peter chugged it, crumpled the bottle, and tossed it into his backpack. 

He waited until Matt set his bottle down before asking something that had been weighing on his mind for the past few days. “So um, hypothetically, how would you approach a _ hypothetical, _ very determined, stalker-slash-potential murderer that’s been chasing after you for days?” 

Silence. 

“Hypothetically. Obviously,” he tacked on. 

“What?” Matt was obviously very confused, if the slight twitch of his lips was anything to go by.

“Completely hypothetical. Just, how would you, like- wait!” he broke off and jogged after Double D. He’d stepped out of the ring and started unwrapping his hands. Peter’s urgency increased. “Would you fight him? Or keep hiding? Or escape the city and cut off all communication with everyone you’ve ever known?”

“This isn’t hypothetical at all, is it,” he said flatly. It wasn’t a question. 

“No, it definitely is,” Peter lied. 

Matt just stared at him, unimpressed. “I’ll take care of it,” he finally said. 

Peter’s mind completely blanked. He just stared in shock with his mouth hanging open as Double D effortlessly made his way out. He shook his head slowly, stunned, and only snapped out of it when the door slammed shut behind Matt.

He jolted into movement, spider sense tingling dangerously. Peter snatched his mask out of his discarded hoodie and pulled it on so no one would see an unmasked Spidey running around Hell’s Kitchen and burst through the door into the streets, yelling even though Matt was already out of sight.

“Matt, wait! He’s-” Peter cut himself off with an _ oof _ as a large body tackled him from the front, _ “-dangerous,” _ he wheezed as he was slammed into the sidewalk. 

Peter instantly slipped into fight or flight mode. All thoughts of Double D fled his mind as his senses flipped into overdrive. He jammed a knee into the person’s stomach, rolling out from under them as they jerked back at the impact. Darting down the street a couple of steps, his hands came up in a defensive position before whirling on heel. Peter needed some distance between them, but it was Fighting 101 to never have your back to the enemy.

His feet found purchase on the concrete as his attacker rose from the sidewalk, and Peter couldn’t help but think about how stereotypically bad-horror-film this whole thing seemed. But as the figure straightened, the red and black leather suit and white eyes struck a chord of recognition in him.

_ “Deadpool?” _His stance fell slightly and complete disbelief swept Peter.

“The one and only.” A weak imitation of jazz hands followed. “Now, I’m really sorry ‘bout this, Spidey. Believe me, I am,” he said, not sounding very regretful. He unsheathed his katanas and began advancing. Peter was really missing his web shooters. “I respect what you’re doing here in the humble town of Queens, stopping crime and what-not.”

Peter’s heart rate skyrocketed. His mind was racing, weighing each and every pro and con of running or fighting as he slowly backed away. 

"But hey, work’s work. You understand, right?” he asked. A split second before he finished talking he pounced, landing where Peter would’ve been if he hadn’t leapt out of the way. Peter bolted towards the gym entrance, every logical thought leaving his body for the familiarity of his web shooters. 

But a body hurdling over his head cut him off, and he almost fell over trying to dodge it. Peter whipped around just in time to see Matt in the Daredevil suit slide-tackle the man following him. Deadpool dodged it, and Matt sprung to his feet. 

“Kid, get out of here!”

“What?!” Peter shouted, horrified. “No way! I’m not leaving you with this psycho!”

“It’s fine, he-“ Matt paused, catching a harsh kick aimed at his midsection. “He’s not going to hurt me.” He jerked Deadpool’s leg up and over, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that, princess.” Deadpool spat out, and proceeded to sweep Matt’s legs out from under him from his spot on the road.

Peter heard the air whoosh out of him as he fell, and the ratting gasps as he tried to catch his breath. Deadpool didn’t hesitate to jump back up.

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat at the almost robotic way the merc was holding himself, and for every step closer he took, Peter matched with one closer to the door of Fogwell’s. He was going slow, as if it was a wild animal in front of him instead of a highly trained mercenary. “Of course,” he whispered to himself. “Of-fucking-course. Just my luck. I piss off _ one _ ninja and get a fucking _ assassin _ sent after me.”

Deadpool swiped the abandoned katanas off the pavement fluidly, not even breaking stride, and Peter used the opportunity to make his move.

Peter threw himself through the gym door, ripping the bell off its post and crashing into a few of the punching bags in his haste. Blood was pounding in his ears as he scrambled to the back wall where his backpack was propped up and tore through it as fast as he could. He nearly dropped his web shooters after he found them, fumbling to secure them around his wrists. 

The familiar _ click _ sounded just in time for Peter’s spider sense to _ scream _ at him. He flipped around to see Deadpool three steps away, and frantically shot a web his head. He missed, the web smacking into his chest instead. It knocked the man back, enough for Peter to dart around him and run back to the street, snatching his backpack as he went. 

Footsteps pounded behind him, and Peter twisted around just in time and plastered Deadpool’s hand firmly to the lamp post he was passing. In the time Peter took to decide that was enough to hold him, Deadpool swung his katana up, over, and down. Peter heard the dull _ shick _as it sliced through the junction of bones effortlessly. The merc barely winced, the stump of his arm dripping blood, and Peter threw up in his mouth.

He panicked and shot webs on either side of Deadpool’s head, pulling himself as hard as he could at the assassin, fully intending on knocking him out with either an elbow or knee. But Deadpool was _ fast, _ cutting through the left strand quicker than Peter could blink. He crashed into the pavement below, not able to compensate or readjust to the sudden loss of tension. 

Peter staggered to his feet just in time for Deadpool to reach him. He punched him squarely across the jaw and followed it with a kick in the chest, sending Peter back to the ground in a heap. His backpack crunched underneath him, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he worried about his phone and schoolwork. 

Deadpool jumped on top of him less than a second later. His knee pressed harshly into Peter’s chest, trapping his arms (and consequently, web shooters) underneath him, and his good hand wrapped deftly around his throat, effectively pinning him down. 

“Wade! Stop it!” Matt pushed himself off the ground, already starting to run, but Peter knew he’d be too late

“Sorry, Red. I know killing’s against your M.O., but some of us gotta pay bills.”

Peter flinched hard as Deadpool raised one of the blades. The metal glinted in the lamp light and he squeezed his eyes shut in sick anticipation. 

“He’s sixteen!” Matt yelled, a hint of desperation bleeding through. 

The grip on Peter’s neck loosened slightly. _ “What?” _

“He’s sixteen, Wade. Last I checked, you don’t kill kids.”

“No way,” Deadpool said disbelievingly. “There is _ no way _ on this godforsaken, shit-filled planet is Spider-Man sixteen.”

He cracked his eyes open, seeing Deadpool facing Matt and completely frozen. “Surprise?” Peter squeaked.

Deadpool whipped back around at his confession. A beat passed before he jolted back into motion, not hesitating to move his hand from Peter’s neck to the seam of his mask and peel it away from Peter’s face.

“Oh, _ that’s _ a no-no,” Peter muttered under his breath, but didn’t try to stop him. He wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to.

Deadpool’s entire body went slack as soon as Peter’s self-admitted baby face was revealed. 

Peter grunted lightly, Deadpool’s knee still digging into his chest. He somehow got heavier as Peter’s face was unmasked, and the weight holding him down was getting to be more than Peter could handle. Too many unpleasant memories were beginning to make their way out of the shadows, and he gently tapped against Deadpool’s leg. “Hey, man, not to be a bother, but would you mind getting off of me now?”

He jumped up like he’d been burned. “Oh. Oh my God. I’m-” Deadpool turned in a circle, hands clenching behind his head before throwing them back down. He stalked back towards him and fear flashed through Peter, thinking for a split second he was going to attack him again. “I’m sorry. Here, let me-”

Deadpool stuck a hand out, and it took a minute for Peter to realize he wanted to help him up. Peter clasped his wrist, and he pulled Peter up so hard he flew through the air. He stumbled forward until he regained his footing. 

“I didn’t know. Swear to God I didn’t. I’m _ so _ sorry. I-I-I’ll make it up to you?” He sounded painfully unsure of himself, but there was sincere, genuine remorse in his voice. 

“Hey, man, it’s… fine. I get it,” Peter said, still slightly uneasy. “I’m Peter, by the way.” He ignored the instinctual urge to go for a handshake.

“Wade. And _ no, _ it’s not _ ‘fine’, _ you’re- you’re practically a fetus!” Deadpool turned away and started seemingly talking to thin air. “Spider-Man’s a kid. Spider-Man’s _ Spider-Kid. _Hell, he might as well be Spider-Fucking-Toddler.”

Peter was suffering extreme whiplash from Deadpool, him going from wanting to kill him to apologizing profusely, but he still had enough in him to protest. “I’m not a kid, I’m practically eighteen,” he said petulantly. 

Matt glared at him. “You’re not even sixteen,” he reminded. 

“I am too. And that basically rounds up to eighteen.”

“Holy shit.” Deadpool was still reeling. “Kingpin hired me to kill a _ kid.” _

Peter might as well have been punched in the gut. He exhaled sharply, mouth hanging open as his mind tried to process what he just said. _ “What?” _

Deadpool ignored him, spinning on heel and gesticulating wildly. “Jesus fucking Christ, he can’t even- Matthew! He can’t even vote!”

“I know!” Matt intoned back, a perfect mockery of Deadpool’s voice.

“Deadpool!” Peter snapped. 

He looked over his shoulder sluggishly, clearly dismayed at being cut off. 

_ “Who _ hired you,” he said slowly, “to kill me?” Peter ignored how depressing it was to have those words come out of his mouth.

“Kingpin,” Deadpool said, almost like Peter should know this. “Duh. Who else?” He went back to half-yelling at Matt, both of them completely unaware of how fast Peter’s mind was playing catch-up.

Kingpin. _ Kingpin? _ Why in the world would he be after Peter? He didn’t have a solid case against him yet. In fact, he barely had _ anything _solid. He was just going off a hunch, some questionable paperwork, and a few concerns from people on the streets. And why now?

Peter gasped lightly. That night at the convention center, when he thought Kingpin was going to show up—it wasn’t a miscommunication issue. Aaron didn’t get false info. The ninjas were who he was talking about, whether Aaron realized it or not. They’re working together. Fisk had the funds, the resources, the influence. The Yakuza were the foot soldiers. And Peter pissed them off. 

“Ned was right,” he mumbled quietly. “Holy _ shit. _ He was actually _ right.” _

Deadpool wheeled backwards like he’d been hit. “Whoa! Let’s keep it PG, _ please.” _

Matt whirled around and glared at him, clearly taken aback. 

“Yeah, I know, hypocrite.” Deadpool gestured at himself. “But hearing a literal _ child _ say ‘shit’ throws me off my game,” he defended.

Matt didn’t drop the face. He shook his head, exasperated, before turning to look at Peter. “What do you mean, ‘Ned was right?’”

It took a second before he could collect himself enough to give an answer. “Ned, he… After that night at the convention center, we were just throwing ideas around, and- and…” Peter trailed off, not knowing how to phrase it. “He said that there was a chance that Kingpin and the ninja dudes—the Yakuza—could be working together.”

Matt nodded slowly. “It makes sense. Fisk needs someone powerful and discreet enough to do his dirty work without getting caught. The Yakuza often help the highest bidder. We interrupted _ something _ that night at the center, You helped me out of that place _ and _managed to keep us from being, well,” Matt shrugged, “slaughtered. He sees you as a threat now.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispered. “Exactly.”

For the first time in what felt like _ days, _Peter was completely still. He stared blankly at his hands, not knowing what to do now that he had all this information weighing down on him.

People tried to kill him… a lot. More than what’s probably considered healthy. But no one had ever actively hunted him down or- or _ hired _ someone to kill him.

“There comes a point in every young superhero’s life where they encounter their first bloodthirsty assassin,” Wade said serenely. Both Peter and Matt were silent, expecting him to continue, but he just stared at them and said, “That’s it. That's the end.”

“Thanks, Wade,” Matt said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Real priceless wisdom there. Thank you for blessing us with that.” 

“No problem,” he chirped, seemingly oblivious to Matt’s tone. 

Peter glanced back at Deadpool, bewildered, but his gaze ended up drifting back to his amputated hand. “Sorry about your hand, dude.” Peter winced, not being able to rip his eyes away from the bloody stump.

Wade looked down at it. Then up at Peter. “Why are you sorry? You weren’t the one that cut it off.” He snorted. “Besides, it’s not like it won’t grow back. Look, it’s already starting.” Deadpool held his arm up, and Peter could see a hand the size of a baby’s sprouting from the stump. 

“Ugh, gross, man,” he said reflexively before falling silent. He still felt pretty shitty about it, but he had a feeling that arguing with Wade would be about as pointless as talking to a brick wall. 

“On the bright side,” Matt said out of nowhere, “you can actually go home now.” He turned around and studied Peter. “Which you should do. You’re tired. You’ve had a…long day, to say the least.”

Peter perked up at that. “Last couple of days, actually. But I didn’t even think about that! I can actually sleep in my own bed again, take a shower, wear my own clothes…” He trailed off, getting slightly distracted by the luxury of returning to his own home. But he jerked himself back to earth, shifting uneasily and looking at Wade. “By the way, do you- know where I live?”

He tilted his head from side to side like he was considering the answer and let out a noncommittal noise. “Mmmm pretty much. I’m sure I could figure it out if I really wanted to.”

Peter was sufficiently weirded out. “Oookay, then.” He looked over to Matt and said, “I’m gonna grab my bag and stuff and then, uh, leave, if you don't mind.”

Matt cocked his head, almost asking _ Why would I mind, I literally told you to leave. _

Peter jogged back into the store and stuffed his belongings back into his backpack. He made sure to close the door gently as he exited, not wanting it to fall off its hinges or anything. 

He just waved goodbye to the two guys still standing in the middle of the road, having an intense conversation involving many complicated hand gestures. Before he could get any further down the sidewalk, Matt ran over and cut him off. 

“Put your number in,” he said and shoved a burner phone into Peter’s hands. 

Peter added himself as a contact and sent a quick text to himself so he could save the number later. He handed the phone back to Matt when his message delivered with a _ whoosh. _

Matt clapped him on the back and started walking back towards Wade. Peter stumbled after him and yelled, “Hey, Double D!”

He stopped and turned slightly. He didn’t even comment on the nickname. 

“Thanks for tonight, man.”

“No problem, kid.” Peter could’ve sworn there was a smile on his face. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so tired. i'm The Most tired. bleh
> 
> and this was late kinda on purpose but also,, not? idk
> 
> anyways, as always, tell me what you thought


	4. now you’ve muffled your voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit a bit of a slump with this chapter, believe it or not. i totally thought this chapter would be sooo easy but it??? wasn’t??? honestly i think it’s because chapter three was just a BITCH to write and it totally drained me skdjsnjj  
but after a few days i snapped back into it and finished it pretty fast (two days!!!)

He woke up late the next morning craving cereal. 

So of course they were out of milk _ and _ Fruity Pebbles. The answer? Grocery run. 

He trudged back into his room after the disappointing discovery in the kitchen and quickly stripped out of his pajamas. “Parting. Such sweet sorrow,” he said mournfully and kicked his pajamas underneath his bed. He grabbed the first outfit he found, questionably clean, and combed his hair down with his hands. 

His backpack was still on the foot of his bed from where he’d dropped it last night, and he pulled it close as he yanked the suit off the floor. 

Peter was about to shove it in there when his phone buzzed. He picked it off his nightstand just to see the same unknown number calling him. Declining it for the fourth time that morning, he turned it off completely and dropped it in the side pocket of his backpack.

He zipped everything up, his suit tucked beneath his chemistry textbook and computer, and closed his bedroom door behind himself. Peter deftly made his way out of the apartment, humming as he locked the door and trampled down the steps, taking two at a time.

Purely out of habit, he double-checked to see if the twenty-dollar bill he’d stashed in his pocket was still there as soon as he hit the street. After a sharp left, he was on his way to the convenience store on the corner. 

He was focusing on blocking out the smell of breakfast foods from nearby restaurants when he noticed a sleek black car parked further down the road. It was parked so the windshield faced him, the plates obscured from view. The car definitely stuck out in this part of town, which was admittedly not that hard to do. Even though Peter felt like he’d seen it before, he brushed it off and kept walking. 

He was a little closer than ten steps to the car when the passenger side window rolled down.

"Get in the car, kid.”

He stopped mid-step, every bone in his body freezing. "Happy?”

The driver’s window came down this time, and Happy stuck his head out. “Car. Now.” Peter just stood there, jaw hung open in shock. “Do you want me to honk at you? Get in the car.”

Peter scrambled towards the vehicle, tripping over his feet as he flung the backseat door open. He quickly closed it behind himself as soon as he got in, a slight panic coming over him. This was the first time Happy had visited him since The Invitation.

“Happy, what is it? Is there- is there something wrong? Does Mr. Stark need Spider-Man? Is it another mission? Is-”

“Kid. Can it.”

Peter’s mouth snapped shut obediently. 

A long, fairly awkward silence passed, and Peter tried to ignore the tension in the air as he calmed himself. He was still slightly worried about the whole ‘showing up in front of my apartment’ thing, but he figured if it was anything life-or-death, Mr. Stark himself would be there instead. _ Then again, _ Peter thought bitterly, _ He doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to showing up in times of need. _

Happy unexpectedly broke the quiet. “You’ve been ignoring his calls.”

Peter flushed. The matter-of-fact way he said it was embarrassing, even though Peter knew he shouldn’t necessarily be ashamed of it. He didn't want to risk responding for Happy’s sake. He knew how much the man hated Peter’s rambling and general emotions. If he opened his mouth, there was a nine out of ten chance it would be a shitstorm of both of those.

When it became obvious Peter wasn't going to answer, he continued. “It probably has something to do with that, if I had to guess.” Hydraulics whirred as the divider rolled up.

He texted Ned the whole way up. Ned kept him busy, drilling him about everything that had to do with the Avengers and the compound and Tony Stark. Peter was pretty sure Happy could hear his laughter through the glass, but he didn’t care all that much. As long as it was keeping him distracted from the growing knot in his stomach.

When the compound was close enough to see, Peter told Ned he’d talk to him later and slid his phone in his pocket before pulling his backpack into his lap, hugging it nervously. The nerves he hadn’t killed off started buzzing again, and Peter had to squash down the urge to jump out of the car Tom Cruise style and sprint back to Queens. 

The compound wasn’t as impressive this time around. Some of the shine wore off after the brief tour he got last time, and he didn’t feel the urge to spontaneously combust when he looked at the _ ‘A’ _ logo this time. 

Happy rolled to a stop under the breezeway. “This is your stop,” he said. 

Peter could’ve picked out the irritation in his tone if he was asleep. He quickly stepped out of the car, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, and cringed to himself as he asked, “Uh, where is ‘my stop’ exactly?”

It was probably safe to assume Happy was glaring at him through his sunglasses. “Just tell FRIDAY you’re here and she’ll tell you where to go,” he grumbled, and pulled out of the drive, leaving Peter staring at the retreating car.

“Alrighty, then,” Peter mumbled to himself. He shifted the strap on his shoulder and turned on heel, pushing briskly through the glass doors. 

The interior hadn’t changed at all, aside from a vase of fresh flowers off to the side. He honestly wasn’t that surprised. 

“FRIDAY?” he asked hesitantly. While it wasn’t his first time in the compound, Peter never interacted with Mr. Stark’s A.I. He assumed she was similar to Karen, but he was still weirdly intimidated. 

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” she answered immediately. 

He couldn’t quite place where her voice was coming from, so he just looked up to the ceiling. 

“Um, just- just Peter is fine,” he stumbled. “Happy said that you’d tell me where to go?”

“Boss has requested you in his lab, Peter. If you’ll make your way to the elevator, I’ll bring you down to the floor.”

Nodding, Peter easily found the elevator, even with the buzzing happening in the back of his head. The doors were already open, so all he had to do now was wait for them to close and FRIDAY would automatically take him. 

He vaguely registered his shaky breathing and clammy hands but didn’t want to think about it, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths and wipe his hands on his pants. This panic he felt whenever Mr. Stark was even _ mentioned _ was slowly growing more and more frustrating to deal with, and Peter didn’t even know why it was happening. 

The elevator whirred to life, the motors clicking and winding around him, and Peter rolled his shoulders as the elevator sank. It was honestly so ridiculous that he was still this nervous when his childhood hero was mentioned. The only difference between before Homecoming night and after was that he wasn’t sure anymore if it was just normal, fanboy jitters or weird, anxious butterflies. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doors dinged and slid open. He took one look around the room, and Peter locked up. 

Mr. Stark was sitting at a workbench positioned in the back end of the room, bent over something that looked suspiciously like a circuit board with holograms surrounding him. Even from where he stood, he could see the faded, stained, _ ratty _ shirt he was wearing, and most of the tension he felt faded into the background. It was relieving to see that Mr. Stark was closer to regular old Tony Stark than the genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist he sees on the news. 

The lab itself was kind of a mess, half-finished Iron Man gauntlets and helmets and suits scattered all over the place. Two giant toolboxes were set up against the back wall, both open and spilling tools everywhere. A smaller workbench sat opposite of Mr. Stark’s, metal parts strewn over the surface and open laptops peering back at Peter. It was lit surprisingly well, with a window taking up more than half of the wall opposite him, and lights put up everywhere the sun didn’t reach. The space resembled more of a mechanic’s workshop than a lab, but who was Peter to criticize what he named things. 

A shadow moved by the corner of Mr. Stark’s table, and Peter jumped before realizing it was just his robot. DUM-E clicked and beeped before spinning in a circle, and Mr. Stark looked up in annoyance before noticing Peter in the doorway. 

“Hey, kid,” he greeted with a smile. 

“Um, hey Mr. Stark. Hi.” Peter discreetly made edged along the wall on his left, pushing his back against it and securing his position as far away from Mr. Stark as he could get. 

He didn’t notice, though, and bent down so he was eye-level with DUM-E. “That is the first semi-helpful thing you’ve done all week, you worthless piece of scrap metal,” he said jovially and patted the robot on the head twice. “Now go. Go to your corner. Don’t touch anything.”

Peter watched as the robot rumbled away, drifting dangerously close to a mostly-assembled suit before Mr. Stark yelled, “I’m serious! If you break _ anything, _ that dunce cap is going _ right _ back on.”

With DUM-E now sufficiently sequestered, Mr. Stark turned his rapid-fire speech back to Peter. “How was the ride? Was it good? Happy didn’t give you a hard time or anything, did he?”

“No, not really,” Peter said meekly. “I think I’m growing on him.”

Mr. Stark laughed and waved him closer. “Come on in, kid. I have an extra table for a reason, you know.”

Mr. Stark’s eyebrow quirked as he slowly shuffled forward, simultaneously dragging his feet and trying to be as quiet as possible. He finally broke his intense stare when Peter robotically placed his backpack on the corner of the worktable in front of him. 

The silence felt too awkward, so Peter did was Peter does best. Talk. “What’s that for?” he asked, nodding to the board on the table. 

“That?” Mr. Stark turned around, almost like he was surprised Peter was asking about it. “It’s just something for this new suit I’m making. I’m finally gonna try out this new design with retro-reflective panels, like my jets, to go for a total stealth design. It should hopefully make my little side missions much easier.” He smirked at Peter. “There are just some kinks I need to work out in the wiring, obviously, and then I _ should _ be able to- oh,” he broke off, snapping his fingers. “That reminds me. I thought up some upgrades for the suit and your A.I.—don’t tell me, uh, Carrie?”

“Karen,” Peter corrected halfheartedly.

“That’s right. You have the suit?”

“I always have the suit,” he said automatically. He was still struggling to make his brain work. 

“Cool. Get it out and toss it here.” 

Mr. Stark made a _ ‘give it to me’ _ gesture with his hands, and Peter stumbled over himself trying to get his backpack open. He dropped his chem textbook beside the bag and threw the suit to Mr. Stark from where he was standing, the fabric hitting his chest with a satisfying _ thwack. _

“I know I gave it back in a paper bag, but,” Mr. Stark got a grip on it and held the suit up in front of him, inspecting the crumpled spandex, “at least I folded it.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Peter muttered, slightly embarrassed. Transporting it wasn’t usually an issue when he was wearing it. 

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m just joking. Nothing a little ironing can’t fix.” Mr. Stark spread the suit out on the table, spider logo staring up at him, and looked back at Peter, just realizing he was still standing. “Sit, sit. What’s mine is yours and all that.”

Peter plopped down into the chair behind him, spinning around experimentally before asking, “So, uh, what exactly am I doing here?”

“Right now? You’re sitting at a work table and doing nothing. Do homework, tinker, knock yourself out.” Mr. Stark flipped the suit so the back was facing him and found the zipper to the interface, pulling it open and exposing the inside. 

Peter took the hint and pulled his textbook to him, opening to a random page and not bothering to even glance at it. “No, I mean, here, at the compound. Today. With you.”

“Right.” Something sparks underneath his fingers and Mr. Stark swears before plugging an external wire into the suit. “Wanted to talk about some things.”

“Oh,” he said numbly, ignoring the way his mouth dried out at the sentence. 

“You can relax, kid.” Mr. Stark chuckled lightheartedly at the expression on Peter’s face, and he fought desperately to keep all the blood from rushing to his face. “It’s not that deep. At least, I think it’s not that deep.”

A slight shadow crossed Mr. Stark’s features, but it was gone so fast it left Peter wondering if it was even there. 

“Anyways, Pep really ripped into me a few days ago, when she found out I, ah, didn’t really talk to you after the whole A-Team-slash-engagement debacle—fun fact, she’s a size six, not eight—so I decided to grab your number. Maybe get this whole mentor-” he placed a hand on his chest before gesturing at Peter, “-mentee thing going. You could get some rather sage advice from an old withered soul like myself.” Mr. Stark snorted. 

Peter’s gaze drifted down to Mr. Stark’s hands, watching as he traced wires and rotated the fabric until he found whatever he was looking for. He was a little overwhelmed with the speed Mr. Stark was talking, and it felt a little better to have a part of his brain distracted. But even if he wanted to speak right now, he wasn’t sure he would get a word in. 

“You know, speaking of which, that whole rejection thing, with the _ test, _” Peter’s eyes snapped up as Tony waved a hand around his head, “isn’t usually my style. But, I gotta say, big props to you. Not a lot of people turn down a spot on the Avengers. Hell, not a lot of people get offered a spot.” He raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at Peter. 

Peter just stared back, fully expecting him to continue. Maybe apologize. Preferably something along the lines of _ “Oh, hey, also, thanks for stopping all my stuff from being stolen and manufactured into deadly weapons that would ravage the streets of New York. I’m sorry to hear about the whole ‘dropping a roof on you’ situation, and I’m also sorry I never said thanks after Homecoming. I didn’t mean to ignore you for these two months afterward either, I had a system-wide shutdown that rendered me incapable of any outside communication whatsoever.” _ Something like that. 

Instead, Mr. Stark just nodded and stopped fiddling with Peter’s suit for the time being. “FRI, run diagnostics for me?”

“On it, boss.”

Peter’s teeth caught his bottom lip and he looked down at his work, slightly ashamed at himself for thinking that. He should know better, really. It’s not even that big of a deal. It’s not. 

“But after Happy told me about the whole downing a plane thing, I was kinda hoping-”

His ears rang and his vision took on a white tinge. “Can we-” He blinked away the surprise on Mr. Stark’s face as he interrupted. “-not, uh, talk about that? Please?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowed and his brows dipped, but the look was gone as fast as it came and left Peter thinking he imagined it. 

“Sure, kid. Pass me that screwdriver.”

Peter had to get up from his chair so he could reach the tool. He tossed it to Mr. Stark, who caught it without looking.

“So I’ll cut to the chase.” Mr. Stark spun his chair around and rocked out of it. He leaned against the side of the table he was previously working at and stared at Peter, tapping the screwdriver against the heel of his palm.

“I know you've been spending some time with that... _ barbarian _ Daredevil lately.” Peter started forward defensively and he held a hand up as for silence. “He's not a good person, kid. The number of people he’s put in the hospital…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“He's not like that,” Peter protested. It sounded weak, even to him. “He's nicer in person, he's _ helping _ me,” he tried.

“How exactly do you know that?” Mr. Stark asked, raising a brow. He didn’t seem suspicious, just trying to prove a point. 

But either way, Peter’s train of thought crashed to a stop. How could he explain himself without giving up Matt’s identity? “Uh-” he stalled.

“Exactly.” He plowed on. “You could get hurt, kid. I don’t want you around him anymore. That goes for Cage, Jones, and the Rand kid.” 

Peter tensed. A thousand things bolted through his head, none of them kind. 

“And that Deadpool character, too. Steer clear of him. He’s borderline psychotic.” 

That sent him reeling. He scoffed, bitterness taking root in his heart. “You really don’t-...” 

_ You really don’t know what’s been happening lately, do you? _ he wanted to ask. Anger flashed through him, quickly replaced by bone-deep sadness. 

He stood there, completely still, for what felt like hours. The silence was completely unbearable, and the way Mr. Stark was staring at him had ice tracking through his veins. No matter how hard he focused on it, he couldn’t make out his expression was confused, angry, or completely apathetic. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” Peter said coldly and suddenly jerked his phone out of his pocket, hitting the power button and staring intently at the empty notifications center. “May just texted, she said I need to come home. Bye, Mr. Stark.”

“Kid…” His face morphed into something like uncertainty as Peter marched forward and grabbed the suit off the table in front of him. But he didn’t try to stop him as he turned around and picked his backpack up as well. 

Peter walked as fast as he could without jogging, zipping the coding back into the suit as he beelined to the door. He hesitated slightly when he got to the exit, nothing more than a stutter in his step, not enough for Mr. Stark to notice, before he stepped over the threshold and practically ran to the elevator. 

“FRIDAY, will you take me back up please?” he asked roughly, clenching and unclenching his fists around the straps of his bag. 

“Sure, Peter.”

“Thanks.” 

The doors closed around him and Peter fought the urge to collapse. That whole interaction completely sapped him, but instead he tilted his head back so his eyes were trained on the top of the elevator. He was almost too frustrated to concentrate enough to text Happy, but he pounded out a quick _ ‘please come get me’ _ and jammed his phone back into his pocket. His gaze drifted back to the ceiling and he chewed on his bottom lip so he wouldn’t start crying. 

The elevator stopped and the door slid open, and he leveled his gaze just for both of his eyes to narrow at the sight outdoors. 

Happy was already _ there, _parked and waiting where he dropped him off, front windows rolled down as usual. Peter snapped out of it and rushed outside, stopping beside the car before he could get too impatient and start honking. 

“You’re- Why are you here already? I watched you pull off,” he stated, bewildered. 

Happy shrugged. “Needed gas. Didn’t have anything else planned today, so I came right back.”

Peter nodded once, determined not to let anything show on his face. He didn’t want Happy thinking he was pissed at him after he did something nice for Peter. Resisting the urge to look back at the compound, he dove into the backseat and slammed the door behind him. 

“Jesus, kid,” Happy muttered. “Mind the windows.”

He just sighed and shook his head, grinding his teeth together as he pulled out. Peter didn’t say a word as they hit the main road. Happy shot him a confused look from the rear-view mirror, but he ignored him. He turned towards the window and let his head rest against the glass, staring at the landscape passing outside.

The rest of the ride was deafeningly quiet.

By the time he got home, there were about two hours until dark so he figured this was as good a time as any to start patrolling. He didn’t even pause to put his stuff in his apartment, instead just sticking his backpack to the side of the building after yanking his suit on. 

Peter stopped a few muggings, webbed up some would-be ATM robbers, helped a kid find her mom, but he was fairly quiet the whole time. By his standards, at least. He probably made one quip throughout the night, something about bad parenting and leaving the past behind, not your kid, when he reunited the mother and daughter. He just couldn’t get that lecture from earlier off his mind enough to focus on joking around, which was saying something.

The sun was setting on Queens when he collapsed on top of one of the nearby high risers with his backpack on his shoulder and a hotdog for dinner, courtesy of Mr. Cardénaz on 11th street. Ever since he stopped the hijacked tourist bus from crashing into the poor guy’s cart, he gave free hotdogs to Peter whenever he swung by. 

Peter rolled his mask up to his nose, sticking the hotdog in his mouth as he unzipped his backpack and pulled his laptop out. 

“Do you want to play a game, Peter?” Karen had been quiet until that moment after he snapped at her at the beginning of patrol. He’d apologized immediately after, but she picked up on his mood and didn’t say anything to him, other than relaying some of the feed from the police scanners. 

He smiled despite himself. “No, Karen. I’m fine. Thank you, though.” Peter shifted back a bit further from the edge before he cracked the laptop open. He set it down beside him and dug through his bag for his own external cord and said, “I did- I did want to talk to you about something, though.”

“Anything, Peter.”

Peter opened his coding program on the computer, biting back regret. This was such a stupid stupid _ stupid, idiotic, _ thing to do, and he knew he should think about this more, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it. 

Matt deciding to take him under his wing was probably one of the best opportunities he could’ve been given. There was no way in hell he was giving that up, just because Mr. Stark asked. He wouldn’t do that this time. So Peter had to disable the Baby Monitor Protocol—and consequently, Karen—so Mr. Stark wouldn’t be able to track him. 

He plugged one end of the cord into the laptop, the other into the cleverly placed computer port hidden in a pocket under the suit’s right armpit. “So, Mr. Stark found out about my little rendezvous with Double D, and…” He sighed, briefly closing his eyes. “Karen, do you think he’s helping me at all?”

“Daredevil or Mr. Stark?” she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle. 

“Daredevil.”

“The training he offered last night did serve a fairly big benefit to you, and he also saved you from Deadpool. But he is technically a criminal.”

“So am I,” Peter remarked carefully. 

Karen was quiet for a minute, and Peter was shocked to realize this was the first time he stumped her. He hated that it happened during this conversation out of all the others. 

“You seem happy around him,” she finally said. 

“Yeah, I… I guess I am. He’s a friend.”

Peter took the lull in the conversation to highlight the block of text containing the protocols, typing the changes he needed into the code as fast as possible. 

God, he’s being so _s__tupid. _ Without the protocols, Mr. Stark won't be able to spy on him, but he also won’t have… _ Karen. _

But Peter knew that Matt was already helping him more than Mr. Stark ever had. And he can’t take any chances. Matt was _actually_ _helping_ him, teaching him things he couldn’t learn on his own. If Mr. Stark found out… well. Peter didn’t know what he would do. 

He stared at the sinking sun, forcing himself to stay focused, steeling himself for what he had to say. 

“I have to do something, and he just doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m being _ stupid _ and _ childish, _ but just... know you have responsibilities to Mr. Stark, and I don’t want to ask you to choose...” He took a breath. “It’s hard to explain, Karen. Just know that I- I won’t- it’ll only be for a little while, yeah?” 

He was choking up as the thought of losing the loyal A.I. slowly became more and more of a reality. His throat turned hoarse and eyes started burning, so he desperately tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “Don't want you missing me too much,” he said and forced a laugh.

“Peter, I’ll miss you no matter what.”

His eyes flicked shut. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll miss you too, Karen,” he said softly. 

He opened his eyes back up to watch the sun finally dip below the skyline. The sky was a dark violet, the lights from the buildings taking the place of stars. Peter kept his eyes trained on the sky as his hand drifted to the keyboard. 

“Goodbye Peter,” Karen murmured. She sounded...sad. Guilt stabbed him through the chest, burning like a wildfire when he realized she probably knew what he was about to do. 

“Goodbye Karen,” he murmured. Before he could change his mind, Peter harshly pressed the Enter key, locking the code in place. 

Exhaustion flooded him as the code kicked in, and the overwhelming need to sleep crashed over him like a tidal wave. All of a sudden, the lights were too bright, the muggy air was too stifling, and he just wanted to close his eyes and actually _ rest, _ not even sleep, in his own bed. 

He pulled the cord out and jammed everything back into his backpack. Yeah, he was calling it quits a few hours earlier than he normally would, but Peter figured he wasn’t in any state to be fighting or saving people. 

He swung home in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tom cruise is a fucking legend that deserves everything the world has to offer
> 
> song rec of the chapter: when i r.i.p. by labrinth!!! its so good!!!
> 
> as always, lemme know what you thought!  
(@greenhat come back i miss u & ur funny comments)


	5. spitting blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally a total 9.5k of utter buffoonery. i got VERY excited over this chapter so i had to split it up oops. i also like to think i’m funny. indulge me.

Peter was suiting up for patrol when his phone rang. 

He picked it up to see _ ’DD’ _ pop up across the screen, and he answered it almost immediately. 

Matt didn’t give him a chance to say anything before jumping right in. “Hey, Pete. There’s a job that we kinda need some help with, I was hoping you could pop in.”

Peter was absolutely _ thrilled _ Matt asked for him until a bit of suspicion wormed its way into him. “ _ ‘We?’ _ Who’s _ ‘we?’ _” If Matt had somehow roped Mr. Castle into this, Peter would say no just to preserve his own sanity. 

“Me and Wade.”

“Oh.” That’s… not what he was expecting. 

Peter smacked the emblem on his chest and the suit suctioned to his skin. He pulled his backpack on just as Matt said, “So, you in, kid?”

“Yeah. I don’t see why not.” Peter held the phone between his chin and shoulder and cracked open his window, shooting a web and swinging out. “Do you have coordinates?”

“Um-” A loud scratching noise cut him off, so grating Peter dropped his phone. He swore under his breath and shot a web just in time, catching it before it smashed into the ground. When he shoved it back under his chin, Matt was yelling at someone (presumably Wade) away from the phone. “God _ damn it, _ Wade, why can’t you just keep it still for _ five _ minutes. _ Five fucking minutes! _ That is _ all _ I ask.”

Peter bit back a smile, afraid Double D would be able to sense it through the phone. 

“So it’s a no on the coordinates, but we’re at a warehouse in Harlem, West 158th Street, right now. It’s not that hard to miss, all the windows are boarded up and there's a big tarp covering the front door. Just waiting on yo-”

There was a sharp crack, like Matt dropped the phone, and chaos erupted on the other side of the connection. Indistinct screaming and banging flooded through the speakers, so loud it left Peter wincing and leaning away from it. More indistinct screaming came through, and then all of a sudden Matt’s voice cut through the commotion. 

“PUT THE FUCKING ROCKET LAUNCHER _ DOWN!” _he roared. 

Peter couldn’t hold it back this time, laughing so hard he almost fell off his web. 

“Yeah.” Matt eventually picked the phone back up. “Ha ha _ ha. _ Laugh while he blows us all to hell. Unlike _ someone,” _there was a pointed silence, and Peter could practically see Matt glaring at Wade. “I don’t have an insta-healing factor.”

“Sorry, man,” Peter laughed. Matt just sighed. “I’m on my way right now.”

“I truly don’t understand how a grown man can’t understand that explosives in a confined space is not a good idea. I swear to God, he just does it to antagonize me.”

“You are _ right!” _ Wade hollered from the background. 

The line went dead. 

He pulled his phone away from his face, confused, just to see the _ call ended _ page blinking up at him. Peter just hoped Wade didn’t blow Matt’s phone up. That would kinda suck for the both of them. 

Peter shoved his own phone into the belt of his suit. God, he missed Karen. It was so difficult to keep track of his phone on patrol, but it was a necessity now that he didn’t have her to take care of calls or texts automatically.

Honestly, Peter wasn’t really sure why he said yes to this job so quickly. Daredevil, as Ned so kindly pointed out, might as well be part of the “big leagues” in most people’s eyes, and Deadpool’s known to just be dangerous, whatever side he’s gunning for. 

If Toomes taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t one hundred percent ready to handle more advanced threats. He could do it, there would just be collateral. That’s why he decided to go after Kingpin, thinking that he would easily be able to bust the figurehead of the mob, but it all dissolved so quickly it left his head spinning. Why was he going after someone who has countless resources in New York, employed one of the most ruthless mob organizations in the world—that he knew of—, and put a hit out on him? He’d only managed to beat Matt _ once _ over the last three days—but the satisfaction from the stunned look on his face was more than enough in his book. 

So yeah, maybe a part of it was just to spite Mr. Stark, but it was just a small part. Okay, a big-ish part. But whatever. It’s not exactly like he took Peter seriously anyways. 

The warehouse came into view before he knew it. Peter slowed his pace a few building out to avoid making his presence known to any potential sentries outside the building. He gracefully slipped off his web and grabbed onto the side of the building across the street from the storage place. 

It turns out there was no need for secrecy. Upon closer inspection, no one was posted outside the warehouse. Peter didn’t know if he could chalk that up to it being broad daylight or the inhabitants just being lazy. 

Figuring Matt and Wade were inside, he circled the building before finding a window that wasn’t boarded up. He carefully stuck his fingers to the glass before applying steadily increasing pressure, and the glass pane popped out of place easily. He stuck it to the outside of the building before crawling quietly through the window, hovering on the wall above the loft of the warehouse. 

Matt and Wade were already there, crouched in the far right corner overlooking the main floor of the warehouse. They were decked out in their respective suits, and arguing over something. From the looks of it, Wade was winning. Their backs were to him though, and he grinned to himself as he silently made his way across the wall so he was directly behind the pair. He pushed off the wall and easily got to the end of the loft. 

“Hey guys.” Peter landed lightly behind them, and while Matt remained as calm as ever, Wade jumped so hard he almost fell over the railing. 

“Holy _ shit, _Spider-Kid.” Wade shoved him, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Peter just grinned and took it, eventually coming back close to them. 

“So what’s the plan, Double D?” Peter asked and hunkered down beside them. He had to push a large, heavy duffel bag for him to do it, and Wade grabbed it away from him defensively.

Matt’s head twitched to the side for a moment before he started. ”Some suspected members of the Colombo crime family have been seen associating with a group of rogue… ninjas.” He said it like it pained him. “The plan is to incapacitate and/or get them arrested, and find out where the Yakuza are operating from if we’re lucky.”

Peter nodded his head slowly, digesting the information. He made it sound easy enough, but most things he got involved in usually went horribly wrong.

“Hm. Yakuza,” Wade mused. “That’s such a good name. _ Yakuza. _Rolls right off the tongue.”

“It literally means useless,” Matt muttered. As usual, Wade ignored him. 

_ “Ya-ku-za,” _ he repeated again, drawing out the syllables. A brief moment of silence passed, and then he asked, “Matthew, why don’t we have a team name? We should have a name. Like the Avengers. Revengers. X-Men.”

“Who?” Peter wasn’t sure he recognized the last one. 

“How about… The Spandexed Superheroes?” he suggested, completely ignoring Peter.

“I’m hoping that was intentionally bad,” Matt growled. Wade was silent. He sighed. “Wade, neither of our suits are made out of spandex. I honestly don’t even know if Peter’s is either.”

He just shrugged. He didn’t know either. 

“You’re so horribly critical matthew,” Wade groaned. He paused before snapping his fingers. “I got it! The Terrible Trio.” He ominously spread his hands, looking like a villain from a silent film. 

Peter shot that down before Matt could even open his mouth. 

“Jesus, you guys are so negative.” 

“Heads up, guys,” Matt butted in before Wade could say any more. “We have some cars coming down the streets, and I’m almost positive they're our guys. Peter, you stay up here and act as our eyes while Wade and I take care of the things on the ground.”

He couldn’t help his sigh of disappointment. But he nodded his head in agreement and the other two took off down the stairs to the cluttered first floor. 

Peter shot a web and swung to one of the metal support beams at the top of the building so he could get a good look at the building. Most of the ground was stacked with wooden boxes and construction pipes, but there were a few bare spots by the entryways and walls. Wade followed Matt to the main door, leaving the right side entrance uncovered, and both of them disappeared behind one of the clusters of boxes.

Peter kicked his legs over the side of the beam and took a seat on the metal strip. “What can I offer?” he grumbled sarcastically. “I only have, oh, you know, actual superpowers. But _ noooo, _ make me stay up here while those two idiots blow the whole operation.”

“I heard that!” Matt yelled from his spot between the construction pipes. 

“Fine. _ One _ idiot,” he amended.

Peter’s enhanced hearing picked up on Wade whispering to Matt, “Hm. Fair.”

“Wade!” Peter called as quietly as he could. “Go to the right. We need all the entrances covered.”

He shuffled over right in time, because just as he hunched in the corner, Peter heard the sound of car doors slamming shut just outside of the building. He swung his legs back up so he was tucked in the shadows of the ceiling and looked over to see if Matt noticed their company. After giving a thumbs up in confirmation, he slipped back behind the boxes.

The main door was pushed open, and about thirteen people came through the tarp hung over the front. Peter fidgeted on the beam, not sure what to do with himself as the gang members trickled through, talking to each other loudly. 

So he just let himself wait and watch as the heavy door closed behind the last of the gang. Peter slid carefully along the beam, edging closer and closer to the wall. He wasn’t too worried about being seen, but he wanted to stay as quiet as possible anyways.

Matt waited for about thirty seconds, waiting for everyone to gather together, before he made his move. Apparently it was a predetermined signal, because Wade launched right in alongside him. 

The fight was quick and dirty. Matt made quick work of the dudes towards the back of the group, hitting them in the nose or kicking them in the chest, then following it up with a punch to the jaw or temple or back of the head to knock them out. 

Wade opted for a more direct approach, jumping right into the middle of them all and using his iron knuckles and other assorted hand weapons to take them down, not caring how much damage he caused. Peter thought for sure he was going to be overwhelmed, but he was holding his own pretty well.

He was just about to loudly complain about how boring and monotonous this all was when he noticed a guy sneaking up on Wade, drawing a horribly familiar weapon as he approached from behind. 

Before he could get any closer to Wade, Peter snapped a web at him, pulling him into the air and plastering another one over his mouth. Fast as lightning, he used the first web and wrapped it snugly around his arms before attaching another web to the bottom of the man’s feet and tying the other end around the support beam. He snapped another web at the dropped sword, catching it before it hit the ground, and stuck it to the ceiling. 

“First impressions are important, you know. I have the feeling that stabbing Deadpool in the back is a pretty negative one, so, you’re welcome.” He left the guy wiggling against his restraints and hopped across the beams. 

He didn’t have to fight any of the other gang members. Matt and Wade had already taken care of them by the time he landed softly beside them.

“No guns? No knives? No weapons of any kind?” Peter remarked. “For a notorious crime family, they’re _ really _unprepared. Aside from, like, one of them.”

“Yeah, it was great and all, but,” Wade started amiably, “now all our intel’s unconscious. With possible brain damage. What now?”

A lightbulb went off in Peter’s mind. “Well,” he smiled. “Not all of them.”

Wade followed his gaze towards the rafters, where his would be attacker dangled. Matt smiled savagely. 

“One second.” Peter swung back up to the top of the beam and leaned over, grabbing the web stuck to the bottom of the guy’s feet about six inches from the top. He whipped some web dissolvant out from his belt and poured it over the slack between his hands and the beam, holding on to the remainder of it as the web burned through. Peter dropped the guy slowly to the ground and jumped down after him. He didn’t bother with the makeshift gag or arm restraints.

“Double D, do you recognize that sword up there?” he asked, pointing up to the ceiling.

Matt didn’t even glance at it before he said, “I'm going to go out on a limb and say it’s one from Sunday night. One of the Yakuza’s weapons.”

Peter nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. It would make sense, too, with them working together and everything, but I just wanted to make sure. His wardrobe is a little bit different,” he said, smiling.

“He’s just a runner,” Matt said simply. “That’s why he’s in street clothes. It’s less likely to alert civilians that there’s a trained killer in front of them on the sidewalk.” 

Peter couldn’t tell if he was being funny or completely serious. 

“If I had to guess, I’d say the guy over by the rope coil is his partner,” he continued, nodding his head over to one of the guys Wade took out. “He has one under his shirt.”

Peter walked over to the guy he mentioned and pulled his shirt up, and sure enough there was a carbon copy of the katana strapped across his back.

“Unfortunately for us, these guys don’t talk.”

Peter whipped back around, staring at Matt. “What?”

“They’re trained to take death over giving anything up. We won’t be getting any location out of him.” Matt marched over and planted himself directly in front of the Yakuza member, letting the man glare at him for a few seconds before swiftly knocking him out.

“So we’re fucked,” Wade huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Peter felt a sinking feeling in his chest. 

But Matt cocked his head to the side, thinking. “Not yet,” he finally said. “You two try to get one of these morons up,” he gestured to one of the limp bodies around him, “and I’ll scope for some evidence. Maybe the Colombos are as stupid as I hope and left something laying around that could help us.”

He disappeared into the warehouse, and Peter glanced over at Wade. He just shrugged and strode over to one of the unconscious bodies, dragging him over and dropping him at Peter’s feet.

Peter kneeled down wordlessly and grabbed the guy around the shoulders, shaking him awake. He probably used a little more force than necessary, but it woke him up. 

The gang member groaned and blinked his eyes open, and Peter let him fall back to the floor so he could regain his senses. There was already a huge bruise spreading over his temple, courtesy of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself. But it apparently didn’t take long to shake off, because he took one look at Peter’s masked face and shoved him away, scrambling to his feet and taking off.

Peter rolled his eyes at the pathetic escape attempt and flicked his wrist. A web shot out and glued itself to the guy’s shirt, and he pulled him back to the wall easily.

“Come on, man, you are _ really _ screwing up my night,” Peter whined and covered both his wrists in webs, preventing him from getting any further.

Wade grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the side, away from their new captive. “So, how’re we gonna go about this interrogation?”

“I have no idea,” Peter said, stunned he was even asking him. “I was kinda hoping you would take point.”

“Hm.” Wade stroked his chin over his mask, the perfect picture of mock thoughtfulness. “Are you up for some Good-Hero-Bad-Hero?”

“I’m pretty sure saying ‘bad’ in front of ‘hero’ completely defeats the purpose of word, but,” Peter muttered, “sure. Why not.” 

Wade cracked his knuckles before popping his neck. “I knew you were fun. Matthew never lets me do Good-Hero-Bad-Hero. Says I get too ‘into it,’ whatever that means.” He stopped stretching his various joints and ligaments and turned back to Peter. “Do you want Good or Bad?”

“Um.” He was trying not to flounder. “Good, I guess.” It sounded like a question more than anything else.

Wade nodded. “Makes sense. Fits the image and all. But I have to say, I’m pretty disappointed I don’t get to see Dark Side Spidey.”

Peter grinned. “Sorry to disappoint.” He took a couple of steps towards their new interrogee. “Are you coming or not?”

Wade huffed out a laugh and easily caught up to Peter. “Ooh. little tip.” He tapped his pointer finger on Peter’s chest. “Try to stay quiet as long as possible. And do less Good-Hero and more… Okay-Hero. We can’t have him thinking he actually has any friends here,” he said with a laugh. He quickly took the lead and knelt in front of the squirming—but silent—gang member.

Wade pulled a revolver out from his weapons belt and popped open the cylinder. Then, grabbing a single bullet, he flashed it in front of the gang member before placing it gently inside the chamber. Giving it a spin, he tapped the cylinder back into the body of the gun and stood back up.

“See this?” He tossed the loaded gun into the air and caught it effortlessly. “This is my hand-held polygraph. I find that it works a little bit better than the one you would find in a police station. Because instead of going to jail,” He shrugged. “you die.”

Now Peter knew what Matt meant by getting too into it. He almost had to do a double take to make sure this was the same person who he’d walked in with. 

Wade aimed it at the guy’s forehead effortlessly. The careless, one-handed hold he had on the gun was in complete opposition to his steely, controlled, dangerous body language. 

“So let’s get to it. A little birdy told us that _ you _ guys,” he embellished with a dramatic wave, swinging the gun around, “are working with some rogues from the Yakuza organization. Or, ‘ninjas,’ as we’ve so fondly dubbed them. You know anything about that?”

“No,” the gang member said, mouth pressed in a firm line. However stubborn he acted, Peter saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“Beep beep beep.” Wade cocked the gun before resting his finger on the trigger, shaking his head in disappointment. “You’re lying to me. How about a different question— where are they?”

He shook his head harshly, determined not to talk. Wade’s finger twitched, and Peter had the sneaking suspicion his patience was wearing thin.

Peter decided this was time for him to butt in, not wanting him to accidentally kill this guy, even if he trusted that Wade knew what he was doing. “Hey, man go easy. We still need him for information,” Peter chastised. Then he cocked his head. “Maybe aim for the foot. Or hand.”

The gang member’s face twisted in horror before he shot a betrayed glare at Peter. “You’re Spider-Man! You’re supposed to be the good guy!” he cried. 

Peter winced outwardly. “Am I, though? I don’t think I’m supposed to be nice to criminals.”

“Oh, wow Spidey, I gotta say it. That was hot. But,” Wade turned towards him, wagging his finger, “I did say Good-Hero-Bad-Hero.”

He turned his attention back to the handcuffed man. “Guess it’s Bad and Worse, now,” he said flatly. 

_ Crack! _

Peter watched in mild surprise as their captive flinched back at the explosive sound, only to peel his eyes open to find he was still alive. He was considerably paler than before, though.

“Oops,” Wade said, not sounding sorry at all. “Guess you only have four more chances. Let’s try again. Where. Are. The Yakuza.”

“I… I don't know,” the dude muttered. 

Wade turned pointedly at Peter at the hesitation. Peter just shrugged, trusting him to do whatever he thought was necessary, and Wade pulled the trigger. 

Another _ crack _ rang out, echoing around the warehouse, and there was still no bullet. His odds were dwindling.

The detainee blanched completely. “No, I really don’t know! I’m just a dealer, they don’t tell us shit.” 

Wade glanced over to Peter. “Do we believe him this time?”

“I don’t see any reason why he would lie,” he answered after a moment of consideration.

Without another word, he shifted his aim to just past the dealer’s ear and shot again. A hole appeared in the wall beside him. The gang member practically melted in relief, and Wade tucked the empty revolver back into his belt. “So _ now _ we’re fucked,” he said heartily. 

But Peter didn’t think that was quite right. There was something in the back of his mind that was bugging him, some way that they could figure this out, and he just couldn’t think of it. But taking another look at the guy sprawled out in front of them dug it up. “No, you know, I- I don’t think we are.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Peter jerked his head to the side, walking out the door and hoping Wade followed him. Footsteps followed him out, and it didn’t take long for him to spot Matt and make a beeline for him. He made sure they were far enough away from the guy they were interrogating so he wouldn’t hear anything.

“So I’m sure you know this already,” Peter said, directing his attention towards Matt, “but that guy has no idea where these rogues are. But _ that _ one does.” He pointed at the unconscious street runner.

“He’s not going talk, Pete.”

“I know,” he said confidently, a conspiratorial smile spreading over his face. “So we’re gonna let him go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll read through this shit later i'm exhausted and have to write a whole fucking essay before tomorrow (which is totally my fault because i've been putting it off for a week and a half but whatever)
> 
> anyways, tell me what you thought! it makes my day better u-u


	6. only talking to myself here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl i totally forgot about this chapter until rn but here take it

As soon as the Yakuza ninja started to come to, Peter turned around and raced back to the door where Matt and Wade were waiting by the main entrance. He nodded quickly at Wade, and he immediately started his performance. 

“Well, we might as well go,” he said loudly. Peter almost wanted to facepalm at how forced it sounded. “It was a good effort, but it seems we’ve been left empty-handed.”

“And leave the prisoners?” Matt’s voice was completely monotone. He did facepalm this time. “But Deadpool, however could we do that?”

“You said it yourself, Double D,” Peter interjected. “These guys won’t talk. We have nothing.”

“I can see I’m outnumbered.” Then he made his voice louder, bordering on yelling. _ “I guess we’ll be leaving then.” _

The three of them stomped out, making a show of slamming the door behind them. Then, when they were outside, Peter herded them to the next door building. They hid in a spot where they could see the exits of the warehouse, but the “escapee” wouldn’t see them. 

Less than a minute later, the lone street runner staggered out from the warehouse. He paused for just a second to get his bearings, then took off down the sidewalk at a steady pace, careful not to look too suspicious. 

  
Peter made sure to wait until he rounded the corner before coming out of the nook they were hidden in and gave a signal when he went out of sight. He followed Matt out towards the mostly empty street, with Wade trailing on the end, taking his time. But being completely honest, Peter wasn’t too concerned the initial lead he got. Matt was practically their own personal bloodhound. 

He smiled at that mental image but quickly shook it away, trying to refocus himself on the task at hand. Glancing over his shoulder, his heart jumped when he realized Wade wasn’t behind him anymore. “Uhh.” 

“Wade already caught his own ride,” he responded vaguely, like this was a thing that happened regularly. For all he knew, it was. “We’ll have to get our own.”

“All you had to do was ask.” 

Matt stiffened and turned to face him, scowling. “We are _ not _having a redo of the first time we met.”

“Hey!” Peter cried, indignant. “It was _ your _ fault I dropped you. You were literally the _ only _ reason that happened.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m never doing that again,” he muttered.

Peter threw his arms up. With a resentful glare at Double D, he marched up to a woman on the sidewalk and kindly asked her for the keys to her car. She handed them over without a second thought, probably used to the sight of vigilantes running around on the streets together, and pointed to where she was parked. Peter gave a loose salute and jogged back to where Matt was waiting. 

“Here,” he said and tossed the keys through the air. Matt caught them with a solid _ thunk, _ sliding the key ring over his pointer finger and twirling it around. “The nice lady parked over on the curb. Can we please try not to destroy her car?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Lead the way, Bug Brain.”

“A spider _ is not _ a _ bug,” _ he muttered, affronted, but brought him to the vehicle anyways. 

When they both got to the front of the car, Double D clicked the unlock button on the fob and tossed it back over to Peter, who just managed to catch it just before it flew over his head. He had no doubt he did it on purpose. 

Matt opened the driver’s door, but instead of getting in, he just tilted his head towards it. “Get in,” he says, like it never occured that Peter lived in New York, was broke as shit, and didn’t even have his permit.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re driving, Webhead. We don't have all day—get in.”

“I… can’t drive, though,” Peter said slowly. 

“You’re gonna. Chop chop, we’re on a time crunch. Get in,” he repeated, gesturing exasperatedly at the steering wheel. 

“I don’t think you understand, man,” Peter flipping his hands up, placating. “I never really learned how to drive. I don’t need to! I live in _ New York, _ and I’m _ Spider-Man!” _

“Well this is your chance to learn,” Matt said slowly, anger rising in his voice. 

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea, Doubl-” 

_ “Dammit, _ Peter, just drive the fucking car!” he screamed, gesturing wildly at the vehicle. 

“I can’t!” Peter screamed back, throwing his arms up. “I don’t know how to drive!”

Matt groaned frustratedly, kicking the tire so hard the whole car shook. 

“Why can’t _ you _ just do it?” Peter was still yelling. “You fuckin’ blind or something?”

“YES!” he roared.

_ “What?” _ Peter shrieked. “What do you mean ‘ _ yes?’” _

_ “I’M FUCKING BLIND! _

“Oh,” Peter says dumbly. Then, _ “Oh.” _

A beat passed in strained silence. 

“You know,” Peter said, more to himself than anything, “that actually explains a lot.”

“Get. In,” Matt said for the third time. His tone was so dangerous that Peter had to be stupid to ignore it. 

Jesus. “Okay, calm down.” He put his hands up in surrender and ducked into the driver’s seat. And instantly felt his heart start trying to rip its way out of his ribcage. 

Peter put the key in the ignition and turned, the engine sputtering to life in the car. His hands hovered over the steering wheel, not quite sure what to do next. He heard a _ click _ from beside him, and when he looked over, he saw Matt fastening his seatbelt. “Right,” he murmured to himself. “Safety first.”

He strapped himself in, then put his hand on the shift. May had taken him driving before, but his mind went completely blank. He might as well have never been in a car before. 

“You know how far he’s getting right now?” Matt asked. 

Peter tapped on the wheel nervously before hesitantly pushing on the gas pedal. But he totally overestimated how hard he needed to press and immediately slammed on the brakes, causing them both to jerk against their seatbelts. Matt’s arms flew up before slamming back down, bracing himself against the dashboard.

Oh_ shit. _

He couldn’t help it. Gas. Break. Gas. Break.

  
  
“Peter!” Matt yelled.

“What?!” he snapped back.

“Just step on the gas and _ go!” _

Peter slammed on the pedal, practically flooring it as Matt yelled at him. He sped out of the parking spot and into the road, and he had to bite down his shout of surprise as he was pushed against the seat.

“Left, turn left,” Matt ground out from beside him. 

Peter spun the wheel to the side, feeling the two inner tires lift off the ground as he skidded onto the right street. His stomach rose to his throat when he saw how much more busy this road was than the last. He forced himself to slow down instead of stopping completely, like he wanted to. 

“Couldn’t we have just taken the subway?” Matt groaned, clutching the console with one hand and his seatbelt with the other.

Peter’s voice was shaking as he hit a rough patch on the road. “Have you _ been _on the subway?” 

_ “Yes!” _ he yelled, pitching at the end. _ “That’s exactly the point!” _

“Okay, just _ shut up _ and let me _ concentrate,” _ Peter hollered as he skimmed the side of a lamp post. He jerked the wheel to the left to correct himself, but overdid it so much he went veering into the oncoming traffic. 

A sound like a screaming banshee filled the vehicle, and he only realized it was him as he swerved back into the right lane and closed his mouth.

Peter locked his arms in place, determined to stay in his lane on the straight road. He slowly increased the pressure on the gas, actively trying to stop touching the brakes. He managed to keep a speed for more than thirty seconds this time. 

“See? This isn’t so bad?” he said, his voice almost a whole octave higher than normal. His eyes drifted over to Matt in the passenger seat. 

“Eyes on the road!” Matt shouted shrilly. 

“How did you even know I was looking at you?” Peter said a tad bit hysterically. His words were running together, losing his focus on his words in favor of the road. 

Matt unclamped one of his hands and smacked Peter on the chest, _ hard. _“I might be blind, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Oh yeah? Then _ who told me to drive the car?” _ he snapped back. Matt was silent. 

“Take this right,” he finally muttered out. Peter barely made the turn, and shot a dirty look at his navigator when the inside tires bumped up over the curb. 

Matt didn’t bother telling him off this time, just instructing him to take the next right he came up on. He glided smoothly onto the new street, finally getting the hang of it. 

“Stop here,” he said. It didn’t register right away, and he completely passed the place he was supposed to park. “Peter, this is the place, _ stop!” _

Peter slammed on the brakes, reflexively closing his eyes and bracing himself for the worst as the car screeched down the street. The car jerked to a stop, and when he staggered out of the vehicle, he saw dark black skid marks leading up to the tires. 

Wade was casually leaning against the chain link fence surrounding the property, arms folded against his chest and one foot crossed over the other. He pushed himself off to meet them as Peter stumbled up to him, tripping over a stray rock and letting out a string of curses. Matt wasn’t doing much better, wobbling to the sides like he just got off a roller coaster.

“Really, guys? I assumed you’d be faster, with the whole _ psh psh _thing,” Wade did a poor imitation of Peter using his web shooters as he came to a stop in front of them. 

Peter rolled his eyes and hoped the expression translated through his mask. “Well, we would’ve been if it wasn’t for Mr. ‘I’m Going to Suddenly Reject This Form of Transportation Because of One Bad Experience That Was Entirely My Fault’ over here. How did you get here before us?”

Wade tilted his head somewhat quizzically. “No one suspects a heavily armed mercenary would be traveling in a taxi, now, would they? It was pretty easy to tail our guy like that, but I have to admit, I never expected to see Spider-Man trying to drive in person.” 

He switched his attention to something behind Peter. “I’m going to assume you finally gave him some _ insight-” _ Peter could hear the satisfaction dripping from his voice, “-on your situation?”

Peter looked incredulously over his shoulder at Matt, who was bent over with both hands braced against the fence. “You told him?!” He whipped back to Wade. “You _ knew?” _

Wade shrugged helplessly. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“I don’t think that’s what that phrase means,” Matt pointed out from behind him. 

“Oh my God,” Peter muttered under his breath, fighting the urge to put his face in his hands. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t care. Let’s move on.” He pointed to the warehouse they were in front of. “Preferably to there. Let’s go there.”

Matt pushed off the chain, shaking his limbs out. “Just give me a second to get my bearings. And my stomach back under control. There are a lot of people in there, so we need to be careful.”

Peter nodded, content to let him do his thing as he took a long look at the building he was standing in front of. “What is it with bad guys and warehouses? So stereotypical,” he said offhandedly.

Wade snorted. “Don’t blame them. It’s not like it’s their choice. I, personally, would go for something more flamboyant. Like a penthouse. Maybe a casino.”

Peter shot him a confused look. “I-... what?” 

“Nothing.”

“You learn to ignore him,” Matt said pointedly. “After a while, everything he says just becomes white noise.”

Peter could sense feel the frown beneath through Deadpool’s his mask. “That’s offensive, Matthew. Honestly, I’m offended.” 

“Cry about it,” he snapped back. 

Peter coughed to cover up his laugh, but he still managed to get on the receiving end of one of Matt’s death-glare. 

“So can we get to it? You know, the mission? Task at hand?” Wade asked, snapping his fingers. “You know, the super dangerous covert organization currently breaking tons of laws and helping a notorious gang family do the same?”

Peter stared at him. “You know,” he said, surprised. “I think that’s the most logical thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Wade shrugged. “It happens every once in a while.”

He looked over to see if Matt was as shocked as he was, but he was already fifteen feet ahead of them. “You guys coming or what?” he asked.

Peter started into action, jogging up beside him with Wade on his tail.

He tried his best to assess the building himself, but there wasn’t much to look at. It just seemed like a regular old dingy New York warehouse. Wade seemed to come to the same conclusion. 

“This definitely takes an acquired taste. It’s a rather bleak place, don’t you think?” he asked. 

Peter nodded his head slowly, distracted by the way Double D suddenly ducked into the shadow cast by the fence. He mirrored his movements, allowing his gaze to drift over Matt, whose head was tilted to the side with his mouth set in a frown. For all Peter knew, he could be listening to a radio down the street or trying to remember what he had for breakfast last week. More likely, he was attempting to create a plan of attack. Or determine how many ninjas were in the building.

“What,” Matt whispered harshly. 

“Nothing.” 

He scowled as Peter’s voice cracked in the middle of the word but let the lie side. 

After a few more seconds of glowering and listening, he finally said, “There’s two of them posted at all three entrances, and a good chunk of them in the back. It sounds like a meeting of some sort, but my Japanese is a little limited.” He paused. “They know we’re coming, but they don’t know we’re here.”

_ Great. _

Matt said, “So I was thinking-”

“Nuh-uh-uh, Matthew,” Wade protested. “We did it your way last time. My way this time.”

Matt turned to Peter, expecting an answer. He already knew he would end up the tiebreaker, but he still dreaded it. 

Peter grimaced in semi-sincere regret. “Sorry, man, I’m with Wade on this one. Rolling with the punches and all that. After all, it is the job, isn’t it?” 

Matt pressed his lips together into a thin line and shook his head before conceding. “Fine. I’m clearly outnumbered. Whatever.”

Peter followed Wade around the building to the big docking doors on the side. Matt hesitated for just a second before tagging along, about six feet behind them. 

Wade pressed an ear against one of the giant docking doors, leaving Peter confused for only a second before he cracked one of them open and silently popped the first guard on his jaw, knocking him out instantly. The second one barely had time to reach for his sword before the same thing happened to him.

He briefly shook his fist out. “Stealthy. Just for you, Red,” he drawled.

Matt sniffed indignantly.

He slipped through the open doorway, grabbing Peter’s wrist and yanking him inside. Peter tripped over his own feet when he caught a glimpse of the inside, causing Wade to stumble too.

Despite the exterior, the inside was clean. Neat. The boxed supplies were stacked against the walls, with a large armored truck parked by the other set of wide doors. Rows of shelving units were set up towards one side of the room, and he made a mental note of them for later. They could come in handy if he needed a diversion. He couldn’t see much of the second floor from where he stood, but he could guess that it looked practically the same. Peter could see the four other guards looking bored at their posts and a doorway leading to another section of the warehouse. All in all, it was considerably nicer than the last one. Bigger too. 

“Well, this certainly is an upgrade,” he breathed, impressed. “Do you think they’d let me talk to the landlord? My aunt and I could use the floor space.”

“I have an extra room if you want it. It’s perfect for sleepovers. We could have pillow fights.” Peter knew automatically he was winking.

“Dude. Sixteen.”

“Right. Right right right right. Right.” 

“Can both of you shut up?” Matt hissed, starting silently up the stairs. “The Yakuza might be in the back right now, but they aren't deaf.” 

“Where are you going?” Wade asked, crossing his arms. “I thought you said this was _ my _plan.”

He flipped him off and kept going.

Peter shot Wade a slightly sympathetic look. He just shook his head and shooed Peter after him, whispering, “Go follow. I don’t trust him.” 

“Right,” he said flatly, but obeyed nonetheless. 

By the time he bounded up, Matt was already climbing over the railing onto the exposed beams crisscrossing the roof.

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat when Matt’s toes brushed a loose case of bullets, sending it teetering into the air. He darted forward and shot a web after it, barely able to see through his panic. 

Somehow, the strand connected, and Peter hoisted the bullets back up to him. 

“Come _ on, _ man. Again? _ Seriously?” _ Peter hissed as he followed Matt over the rails, tiptoeing over beams to the middle of the room. “How many times are you gonna try to blow your goddamn cover when it comes to these guys?” 

“Shut the fuck up, kid.”

“I’ll shut up when you stop _ knocking shit over.” _

He was so caught up in the argument that he didn’t even realize Wade snuck up on the other guards until he heard the loud _ thunk _ of a body falling to the ground. Peter ducked down low as he whipped his head around to see Wade crouched over an unconscious ninja on the ground, holding a second one in the air by his arm.

Almost like he could feel Peter’s glare, Wade whisper-yelled, “My bad!” 

Peter dropped his head into his hands. “I’m going to get killed here, and it’s all your fault. Both of you. I’m going to die, and it’ll be on your souls forever.” 

“You’re being so dramatic right now,” Matt said.

“I hate you.”

“Guys.” Wade snapped his fingers from below, drawing their attention to the shadows flickering in the doorway. “Heads up. Literally.”

When Matt said “rogue group of ninjas” earlier, Peter imagined fifteen guys. Maybe twenty. Somewhere around the size of the dudes he fought two weeks ago. But twenty people don’t really require two vigilantes plus one morally questionable mercenary, and he probably would’ve figured that out if he spent more time thinking about it. What he _ didn’t _ imagine was forty to fifty Yakuza members coming out, armed to the teeth. 

“You never mentioned how big this ‘group’ of rogue ninjas was,” Peter said dryly. “I can see why.”

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Wow. Your faith in me is astounding. Amazing. Truly, I’m stunned.” But then he dropped the sarcasm and whistled lowly. “I’d hate to see what they look like all together. The regular Yakuza. The non-rogue-ified.”

“Yeah,” Matt muttered. “It’s certainly a sight.”

Peter almost nodded before the words sunk in. He whipped around and glared accusingly at him.

Matt just grinned sharply. “You just make it too easy.”

”Is Wade alright?” he whispered as the ninjas slowly trickled into the room like ink. 

He nodded his head minutely and pointed towards the shelving units. Squinting, Peter could pick out a large, Deadpool-shaped lump crouching in the shadows cast by the tall shelves. Matt leaned in so “He’s going to pop out on the count of five. I’ll tell you when.”

His heart skipped in his chest, and he flexed his hands around the beam. Matt held up a hand, one finger sticking up. 

“How’re you gonna get down, man?” Peter whispered nervously. 

He didn’t answer, just flipping up a second finger. Two. 

“I could lower you on one of my webs.” 

Three. 

“Like Juni.” Four. “From Spy Kids?” 

Five. 

Instead of dignifying anything Peter said, Matt just jumped off, landing like a demonic tree frog on one if the guys below. The sound of guns firing and swords being drawn instantly followed. 

“Somehow, that's even more dramatic than what I suggested,” he muttered.

He leaped off after him, using a web like a rope swing and kicking down every ninja in his path. The momentum carried him back to where he started. 

Peter landed lightly on the top railing, easily swerving out of the way of a fast spray of bullets. He snapped his wrists forward and a web attached to the offending assault rifle and pulled it towards him. The weapon flew into his hands, and it took little effort to bend it till it was useless. He chucked the ball of metal back down, webbing the ninja to the floor as he collapsed. “That’s cheating, man!”

Peter’s stress level rose when he saw Matt and Wade separated down below. Making a split decision, he dropped down next to Matt, landing just in time to knock over a ninja with a kick. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan, kid,” Matt said and blocked a slashing sword with his baton. 

“There is no plan, remember?” he shot back, yanking said sword out of the ninja’s hand with his webs. 

“You were supposed to stay up high. We’re starting out _ slow, _remember?”

“Oh. Dumb mistake. My bad,” he said, completely unapologetic. 

Matt grabbed onto his shoulder, grip like iron, and swung him around like he was nothing. He shoved him hard, sending Peter stumbling to the outskirts of the ninja mob. 

“You know, I’ve handled things like this before. _ And _ I distinctly remember saving your ass, like, two weeks ago,” he grumbled, failing to keep the irritation out of his voice. 

A ninja from the outer ring turned to Peter, who kicked his shins out before slapping webs over him when he fell to the ground. From behind him, he could hear Wade yelling over the clatter of metal. Risking a quick glance, it seemed like he was doing pretty good on his own. 

Suddenly, Matt hollered, “Duck!”

Peter did. “Goose,” he breathed as he watched a limp body sail over his head. 

The tingling at the base of his neck went from a moderate pinch to a painful twinge. Peter side-rolled on instinct, letting his body take over as he came up to three ninjas coming too close for comfort. 

“Oh, come on guys. Don’t be bullies.” Peter dodged one of the swords, countering with a spatter of webs covering the guy’s face and trapping his hands against his body. “I don’t like bullies.”

Peter dropped and swept the ninja’s legs out from underneath him, keeping him on the ground with another web. 

He swayed to the side when his spider sense flared again, narrowly avoiding a jab from the ninja now behind him. As he leaped out of the way, trying to keep eyes on the to guys who singled him out, he noticed Matt drifting more and more towards Wade. It was probably intentional, he decided. They seemed to work well together—when they weren’t threatening to kill each other. 

Ninja Two darted forwards suddenly, catching Peter off guard. He ducked under the swipe of the katana, but didn’t react in time to miss the butt of the weapon slamming into the left side of his collar. The bone beneath it cracked, and Peter’s vision went white. 

Gritting his teeth, Peter kicked the ninja _ hard _in the stomach, sending him hurtling through the air. He watched as the guy ran back at him, waiting until the very last second to web his feet to the ground. The ninja’s momentum sent him sprawling on the ground, and he didn’t hesitate to cover him in his webs. 

He did not lose his temper. He didn’t. 

But tossing that guy around definitely helped. 

“Say hello to my little friend.” Peter’s accent was atrocious, but he figured he got the point across when he knocked the last ninja clean out. 

“Spider-Man, stop messing around!” Matt yelled. 

“Sorry!” 

He was not, in fact, sorry. Nor was he “messing around.” He was taking this seriously. 

“Bruce Lee doesn’t have _ shit _on me,” he said to the limp body. 

Very seriously. 

Cradling his bad arm against his stomach, Peter swung over to the staircase, landing halfway up and running the rest of the way. With the full view of the warehouse, he could see exactly where everyone was. Especially the rogues they were making surprisingly quick work of. But a clump of six or seven had broken out and were heading towards the parked truck. 

“They’re trying to take the truck!” he hollered, already launching himself towards the vehicle. 

“Got it,” Wade grunted. A second layer, two of his knives hissed through the air, thwacking into the left side tires. 

Peter got there just in time to knock two guys against the side of the truck, hastily webbing them to the metal before rushing to the open back. 

It was honestly too easy. They were like sitting ducks, crowded against big wooden boxes pressed into the walls. Peter took the opportunity to stick the closest one to the wall by his hands, jumping into the truck to knock him out right after. 

_ Thonk _. 

Ninja Two And A Half crumpled to the ground before his eyes. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Matt standing behind him, blocking the exit completely for the last one. Grinning, Peter smoothly attached a web to his legs and dragged him towards Matt, ignoring his attempts to cut himself loose. 

Matt punched him hard on the nose, and, apparently not satisfied, thumped his head against the ground by the hood.

“You gonna help out or just keep watching?” he rumbled, and Peter’s smile grew.

Less than two minutes later, Matt was rubbing the blood off his hands using a towel Wade found. Peter jumped out of the truck a beat after him and hauled the wooden crate out from the back with a web, catching it with his good arm as it tipped out. 

“For a ‘covert operation,’ they’re pretty careless,” he said as he dropped the box at Matt’s feet. “Look.” Peter ran his finger over a shipping label from somewhere called Mal’s Storage. 

“How much you wanna bet that’s where the ninja men set up shop?” Wade asked and slid his swords back in their respective sheaths.

”Ten dollars,” Peter said. 

Matt turned to him slowly. 

“What?” Peter asked defensively. “That’s practically my entire life savings. That’s a lot of money.”

“I would bet my perfect, dreamy face,” Wade said. “The one Red here can’t get enough.”

Peter once accidentally stepped on a stray cat’s tail. Said tail poofed to more than double its original size, its back got all scrunched up, and there was cat slobber on Peter’s leg from it hissing so hard. That was what Matt reminded him of in that instant. 

“I’ll scope it out tonight,” Peter volunteered, interjecting before a full-blown argument started. 

Both Matt and Wade turned to look at him, and if their body language was anything to go by, they were not happy with the suggestion. 

“I’m stealthier than either of you two,” he said, shrugging his shoulders matter-of-factly. “And if I get noticed, I can just swing out, and my spider sense will help me get away. You two would be on foot.”

“And if you get hurt?” Matt questioned, and he was touched at the concern in his voice. 

But Peter just shrugged again, keeping his voice light as he said, “I heal fast.”

“That’s my line. You don't get to steal my line,” Matt grumbled. Peter could tell he was cracking, and a moment later Matt nodded, defeated. 

“Just don’t get shot.”

Peter grinned. “It’s not on the itinerary.” 

Glancing at the time blinking in the upper corner of his HUD, Peter figured it was as good a time as any to head back home. “Well now that _ that’s _taken care of, I have to return to my humble abode. Make sure it didn’t get enveloped in a house fire or anything.”

He stuck himself to the side of the truck, crawling up to the top. “I’m gonna go ahead and call the cops so you two might want to skedaddle,” he called. 

“God. I’m working with a baby.” Wade turned to Double D, shaking his head disappointedly. “Matthew, we’re working with a baby. A baby that says _ skedaddle.” _ Matt’s jaw twitched.

Peter rolled his eyes and was up the wall in a moment, shooting a web at the ceiling and swinging over to one of the boarded windows. Kicking the wood away, he attached another web to the next building over and hollered, “Bye guys!”

He stopped just long enough to make a quick call to the police at the nearest gas station, reporting Spider-Man, Deadpool, and Daredevil busted up a couple of ninjas--_ Yakuza-- _and was home in twenty minutes.

He opened the fire escape window and shed his suit as soon as he closed it again. Peter dropped his shit on the couch, heading straight for his kitchen and shoved some macaroni into the microwave.

Peter leaned on the counter and bit his lip, his brow furrowed as he stared at the red suit hanging off the arm of the couch with the faint popping of the microwave in the background. What are the chances that Mr. Stark would look at the activity log? 

Too high. With his luck, he’d look tonight and see Peter messed with the code. 

He got his computer from his bedroom and grabbed his macaroni from the kitchen before sitting on the floor of the living room. He grabbed the suit using his toes and kicked it up, grabbing it out of the air and spreading it across the coffee table. Plugging it in, he quickly entered some random coordinates around the city into the mapping system to cover his tracks. 

Peter blew out a big sigh he didn’t realize he was holding and scarfed down the macaroni. Ned texted a while ago asking if he wanted to play Uno, so he decided it was the best way to waste time and took him up on the offer. 

After two infuriating rounds (bots won both times), Peter’s phone buzzed on the table with a message notification from Ned. He opened it to see a screenshot of a tweet containing a photo of Matt, Wade, and him together from earlier today. Smiling as he read the caption, Peter saved the screenshot and quickly opened a new message to Matt’s number. 

  
  


**[to: ** ** _DD_ ** ** \- 8:47 p.m.]**

hey we’re trending on twitter lmao

everyone's calling us ‘team red’

it’s kinda catchy

**[from: ** ** _DD_ ** ** \- 8:49 p.m.]**

We will never hear the end of it if Wade sees this

**[to: DD - 8:49 p.m.]**

fair

but it’s still cool 

  
  


He finished up the game with Ned and told him he was logging off for the night before pulling on his suit. Slipping out of his room, he typed the address from the box into his phone and set out on the route.

It only took a couple of minutes for him to arrive, landing lightly on the roof of a large storage unit complex. With his spider sense prickling lightly at the back of his neck, he padded quietly over the roof until he reached a skylight, and saw a familiar, dark clothed guy walking down the hall. If the ninja-esque outfit wasn’t enough, the man had a distinctly suspicious vibe about him.

Peter slid off the roof, hanging by his fingertips until he was sure his feet were anchored firmly against the outside wall. He followed the ninja—_ Yakuza _—by the windows, making sure to stay above the panes unless he was checking to see if he was still on the ninja’s trail.

He paused to check again, and his heart missed a beat when he realized the ninja was no longer in the hall. “Fuck, fuck fuck _ fuck. _ How the fuck do I lose a ninja in a _ hallway.” _

Peter scrambled back up to the roof and he channeled his inner Double D, listening through the roof for a heartbeat, talking, _ anything. _

He was so tuned in that the _ clang _of metal on metal almost sent him sprawling, and he hurried over to the far right side of the building. Peter dropped down to a window, as close to the sound as possible, and peered into the dark room.

“Oh _ shit,” _ Peter muttered to himself as his eyes adjusted. After blinking once, twice, he fumbled for his phone and nearly dropped it as he dialed Matt’s number. 

“Hey, man.” He talked right over Matt’s confused greeting. “Get down here…_ now. _ You need to see this.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve been at a dance competition all weekend my body is so mad at me right now i’m in so much pain
> 
> tell me yalls favorite part i had fun writing this!!! my personal fave is the whole “stop knocking shit over!1!1” “no u!!1!1!!1!” and Dumbass Wade actually knocking the shit over


	7. getting deeper in this mess

Peter stared openly at Wade’s bare face, bathed in the red light from the setting sun. His eyes narrowed. He cocked his head to the side.

“You know, it’s not as bad as you think it is. I don’t get why you keep your mask on all the time.”

“It keeps the mystery. The man behind the mask, et cetera et cetera.”

“But everyone already knows who you are. All the other heroes at least. Well, the ones you work with.” Tony probably knew too, but he decided to leave that out. 

He stilled. “Oh.”

After a moment of deep, deep contemplation (Peter swore he saw something die in his eyes), Wade shuffled backwards to a familiar looking duffle bag, stuffed full with an assortment of probably illegal weapons. Peter watched closely from his perch on the black car Matt and Wade pulled up in, twisting his own mask around his fingers. 

They really did look like an old married couple when they came in. Sure Matt was trying to strangle Wade and Wade was waving a handgun in his face, but every couple had their moments. “Do you guys just spend all your time together?”

Wade blinked at him, confused, as he buckled an assortment of weapons and tools onto his body. 

“You guys came in together,” Peter elaborated. “And the other night, you guys were already there when I got to the first place.”

A lightbulb clicked on and he beamed. “No, this time was an accident. Well, sort of. Okay, it wasn’t an accident, but it wasn’t on purpose.” 

It was Peter’s turn to be confused. 

“I saw him and I tried to hit him with my car.”

“...Oh.” Peter's lips pursed as he absorbed that information.

As if sensing his discomfort, Matt waved Peter over. He slipped off the roof of the car easily and jogged over, but immediately regretted it when he saw the scowl on Matt’s face. “What, what is it?”

“On the phone, you said ‘some more ninjas,” Matt said crossly, folding his arms. “From the sound of it, this is _ not _‘some more ninjas.’”

“Yep.” Peter grinned wickedly. “Hm. Yeah. I wonder where I got that from. I am sincerely confused.”

“See, this is the type of thing Stark was worried about,” Matt said with mock sternness. 

Peter froze. “What?”

Matt didn’t seem to realize the stiffness in his words, mirrored in his body. “I see it now,” he kept going. “You are a worse person for associating with me. Especially with him.” 

Peter spared a glance in the direction Matt tilted his head to see Wade rummaging around in his Hello Kitty bag. He didn’t laugh at his joke this time. He just felt sick. 

He swallowed harshly, feeling like he just gargled nails. “Yeah. Right.”

Wade wandered over to where the two were standing in silence, dragging his duffle in the dirt behind him. “What’s the sitch, y’all.” 

Peter ignored the way Matt was staring at him and faced Wade. “There’s about 150 guys in there from what I could see. I lied to you. Yay.”

“Kid-”

Peter shook his head, not letting him get any further. “Can we talk about it later?”

He barely waited for the short nod he got in return. “We _ do _need a plan this time, guys. We can’t go in blind like last time. There’s three of us, and a lot more of them. And from what I saw earlier, they have a lot more firepower than us, too.”

“Agreed,” said Matt. “I would say divide and conquer, but I’m not a hundred percent that would work this time. I’m really… God, I can’t believe I’m considering this.” 

Matt marched away from them before Peter could say another word. 

Peter shot a suspicious look over to Wade, a weird feeling taking root in his stomach. “I don’t like that.”

“I do.” He grinned, teeth gleaming in the dim lights.

Feeling a headache coming on, he decided to straight up not worry about it. If he’s learned anything from these guys, it’s that nothing ever went as planned, so he might as well just. Go with it. 

Matt appeared back by his side, already sighing. “Now that _ that’s _ taken care of,” he muttered, “shall we?”

“Age before beauty,” Peter shot, grinning. 

He swept a wide arm towards the building, and Wade slapped his hand aside. 

“Hold on.” Matt had three small black things in his hand. Keeping one for himself, he tossed the others to Peter and Wade.

“And these are what, exactly?” Wade asked as Peter inspected the oddly shaped object. 

“They’re comms,” Peter answered. “Right? I used one in Germany.”

Matt nodded. “I had them specially made first thing after this afternoon. They automatically turn off when they get within six feet of each other so the receiver doesn’t blow. Picked them up when I got your call.”

Peter rolled his mask up and tucked it into his ear. “That was fast.”

“I don’t need walkie talkies. I’m psychic,” Wade said. Peter just stared at him, allowing the concern to show openly on his face. “I’m kidding. Matt, I can’t get it in.”

Matt shrugged and helped Wade with his own when he couldn’t get it to stick. “I know a guy. Anyways, I didn’t get any backups, so don’t lose it. We’re short one as it is already.”

His words finally registered. “Oh my God,” Peter whispered, wincing. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You _ didn’t _.”

“Ooh, is Frank coming? Only Frank makes Matt make a face like that. I like Frank.” Wade muttered to Peter as indescretely as humanly possible.

“Not by choice. Jess is MIA again and avoiding my calls, so. We had to settle. “

Peter brightened. “Jess as in Jessica Jones?” Matt nodded. ”You know Jessica Jones?”

He nodded again, and Peter tried to not get too excited. He definitely had to make Matt introduce him at some point. 

“We might as well go ahead. There’s no point in watching paint dry. Peter, you wanna hop back up there and give us the layout?”

Peter answered by swinging up to the roof again, landing as lightly as he did the first time. 

The base looked as if the Yakuza bought four of the complex rooms and tore all the walls out, making a space half the size of Peter’s apartment building. Fake walls sectioned off different parts of the massive area, and floating walkways had been constructed around most of the perimeter, occasionally stretching over the middle as well. Peter relayed this all to Matt and Wade over the comms, taking stock of the assortment of parked armored trucks, cargo bins, Amazon shipments, and large wooden boxes scattered throughout. 

“Any exits?” Matt asked, voice crackly. 

“None that are visible, but I’d be willing to bet they have a couple of rabbit holes hidden.”

Matt sighed. “Alright. There’s no way of being stealthy about this, so. Um. I guess it’s just a matter of not getting killed.”

“Inspiring, man,” Peter deadpanned.

“Kid, just stay up there till we get in, then drop on ‘em once we get them occupied.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Of course. There was some indistinct shuffling that Peter could only assume was the two of them travelling to the closest entrance. The mental image of them trying to be stealthy while maintaining the six foot boundary was enough to make him smile. 

Matt muttered quietly, “Count of three?”

Peter could practically taste the smart-ass as Wade responded, “Three.”

Watching diligently, Peter waited until abject chaos broke loose. The scene in front of him already resembled a trash fire by the time he shattered the window and dropped down close to Matt. 

Instantly surged by ninjas, Peter got straight to work. Thankfully, most of them didn’t bother to draw their swords in such close combat, so he was dealing with knives, throwing stars, and fists almost exclusively. 

He clocked a few of them out immediately and sprung into the air, letting himself freefall as he let loose a web bomb. That incapacitated a good chunk of them, and Peter rolled right back into the action.

“‘Sup, dude,” he greeted as Matt appeared next to him. “Didn’t realize we were so close to each other.”

“You think this isn't intentional? No, I don’t trust you by yourself,” he grunted, cracking two guys over the head harder than necessary with his baton.

“I’m hurt, man, hurt.”

“Hm, Matty-bear, do you think we should invest in a sitter?” Wade quipped, louder than necessary. The syllables of his words cracked sharply with static. “Then we could go on date night and leave the baby at home.”

Peter snatched away a knife that got a little too close for comfort and groaned. “Do you just find joy in other people’s misery?” 

“Oh, honeybun, my joy _ is _ other people’s misery,” said Wade. He sounded _ way _too cheerful. Especially coming off Matt’s truly uplifting pep talk.

“The fact that you consider this ‘date night’ is concerning to me. Maybe you need to get out more,” Matt said. Peter yelled duck. He ducked, and Peter spun around and webbed the ninjas in front of Matt together.

“Also,” Peter threw a hard punch, feeling the crunch of the guy’s nose beneath his fist, “‘baby’ was the one that found this place. That’s pretty much the same as making dinner reservations. Happy Anniversary,” he grunted. 

It was nice to have someone to talk to again. It’s almost like having Karen back, just more violent and aggressive. And _ loud. _

To be honest, most of the battle blurred into a rhythm of kick, web, punch, dodge, web. Peter’s spider sense was too overpowering for him to do much more than follow his instincts. Whenever he got clumsy, he quickly corrected himself after someone nicked him. 

Peter’s spider sense flared. His eyes widened as he searched the building for the new threat. 

“Guys? I think someone else is-”

A spray of bullets interrupted him, and he barely ducked in time for them to imbed themselves in the ninjas. 

“-here,” he squeaked. 

“That’s Castle,” informed Matt, just as he caught sight of the tell-tale glint of metal flashing from the far corner of the floating walkway. “Glad he pulled his head out of his ass long enough to see this was serious.”

Peter’s mind was practically exploding at this point from all the input. Wincing, he shot a web at the roof and pulled himself out of the fray, latching onto the ceiling. “I can’t focus with this comm in, guys, sorry. It’s coming out.”

He could pick up their faint protests as he palmed the comm and launched off the ceiling. Swinging to where he saw Mr. Castle the first time, he gently delivered the comm on the walkway at his feet.

“Sup, Mr. Castle. Figured you’d get more use out of that than me,” he chirped as he landed on the railing of the walkway. 

“Hey, kid.” Frank didn’t sound surprised in the slightest to see him. “Not sure I want it.”

Peter took the moment of (relative) calm to survey the scene below them. There was no sight of Matt, which Peter was expecting, but Wade was making up for his inconspicuousness. Wade caused total pandemonium single handedly. He gave no shits to his personal safety, racking up stab wounds and severed fingers like they were tally points. His katanas looked like flashes of lightning and seemed to be attracting most of the attention from the Yakuza. They were either stupid or desperate for a challenge.

A gloved, waving arm caught his attention, halfway across the warehouse. Peter’s eyes honed in on Matt as he ducked a blow from one of the three large ninjas that broke off from Wade’s crowd.

Peter was already swinging towards him by the time Matt cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Kid, I need a lift,” shouted Matt, and kicked the same ninja that tried to hit him in the kneecap, bringing him down to a knee. That didn’t stop the other two guys, though. They didn’t even spare their downed comrade a glance as they attacked Matt in earnest. “Now, please!”

Peter hit Matt hard, accidentally driving his shoulder into Double D’s stomach, forcing a loud _ oof _ from him. He hurriedly wrapped his free arm around Matt’s waist, kicking a ninja in the face on his upswing and feeling the nose crunch.

This particular situation was so similar to their first interaction that it made Peter laugh. Ninjas chasing him in an unfamiliar building, carrying Daredevil over his shoulder, completely outnumbered. Slightly overwhelmed.

“I thought you said you never wanted to do this again,” Peter said lightly, taking full advantage of Matt’s current helplessness.

“What, swing or get chased by murderers?” Matt wheezed, banging around in Peter’s arms as he switched webs. “Because sadly, I only remember making one of those statements.”

Peter just huffed and let go of Matt when they closed in on the outskirts of the mob Wade attracted.

Matt, mouth pulled down in a harsh scowl, wiped blood off his baton and massaged his shoulder. “Ready, kid?”

“Only if you are.”

At Matt’s nearly indistinguishable nod, Peter grinned. Holding a finger up, he fiddled with his web shooters, glad he still had manual control over his web combos even with Karen disabled. 

This’ll get their attention, he thought ruefully. As they were distracted with the destruction Wade was bringing, Peter hit the group closest to them with an electric web, a web bomb, and a couple of impact webs. Shouts of surprise echoed throughout the storage units, but it was seconds before they regained their composure. A good chunk of Yakuzas, maybe twenty, broke off and started approaching. 

Peter’s stomach dropped a bit. These guys were significantly more trained and way more careful, advancing on them like a unit. Swords drawn, they made good time to where Peter and Matt were crouched. 

An idea popped into his head. This definitely was _ not _the time to be creating things on the fly, but fuck it.The worst he could do was die. “Let's go fishing,” Peter joked, and immediately dodged the fist guy trying to run him though. 

“What?” Matt questioned, baffled. He grabbed the upper arm of the guy he just violently disarmed and slung him to the ground, leaving Peter to web him up.

“Doesn’t matter.” Peter shook his head, kicking a guy in the tender part of the thigh and following it with a punch to the jaw and webs securing him to the ground. “Just follow my lead.”

He flicked his wrist and shot a web flying towards the nearest ninja. It smacked solidly in the middle of his chest and Peter pulled as hard as he could. Peter’s strength sent the dude flying towards them. 

“Your turn,” he grunted and dropped the strand, already whirling onto the next guy. Thankfully, Matt seemed to know exactly what he wanted him to do and smacked the guy hard, knocking him clean out. 

Peter had a harder time with this guy in particular. His first couple of webs missed, and the ninja clocked him on the temple with the butt of his katana, sending him reeling. The ninja was able to slice him across the meat of his thigh before he fully came back to himself. Pain and anger raced through Peter, but before he could jump that fucker, a silenced bullet sliced through the air. Peter looked on, stunned, as the guy who cut him crumpled to the ground, blood pooling under his chest.

Huh. Okay. Compartmentalize and move on.

From that point forward, the Yakuza started dropping like flies. Even up in the fairly deserted walkways, Frank made his presence known by picking off anyone who got too close to the exits. Unfortunately, that meant many bullets came a tad too close for comfort, often zipping through the air where Peter just moved from. 

The added danger of Mr. Castle served as another potential distraction, and the added adrenaline was pushing his senses closer and closer to their limits. It took most of Peter’s concentration just to not get stabbed through. 

“Fucking hell,” Matt muttered as he grounded one of the many more ninjas that decided to take them on. Even with his senses in overdrive, Peter could barely hear him over the noise. 

“What?” he shouted.

“The idiot’s got a grenade!”

_ Idiot _\--definitely a Wade Wilson Nickname.

“How bad exactly is that?”

“_ Very _!”

“On it!” Peter hollered, his voice pitching as one of the ninjas landed a swipe with one of his knives. 

Peter snapped a generous web bomb at the mob surrounding Matt and Peter, pinning them to the floor as he jumped up high. Swinging through the warehouse was a bit like dodgeball. Just with a lot more force, a generous amount of bullets, and a whole lot higher stakes. 

Peter barely avoided a barrage of bullets Mr. Castle let fly when he pinpointed Wade--and the radius he’d managed to clear. As he dropped to the floor and ran towards him, he saw exactly what Matt was talking about. 

Wade had a grenade in one hand and a pistol in the other, and was waving them around like he was landing an airplane. His tactic seemed to work, because no Yakuza was within ten feet of him for more than a couple seconds. 

“Wade,” Peter panted, engaging with three guys who decided to try and pick a fight, “you good, man?” 

“Yep. Just a flash bang. These bitches can’t tell the difference.” 

One ninja got tired of waiting and charged. Wade cocked back his arm, and as he faltered, Peter had time to hit him with an impact web. 

“Just keep holding them off for a second, okay? I have an idea,” Peter yelled. 

Catching sight of a thick metal pole bolted to a large wooden box, he sprinted towards it as fast as possible. “Wade, unpin it now!”  
  
“What?!” he shrieked.

Peter wrenched the metal pole off the box and screamed, ”Unpin it and throw it at me!”

Without further questioning (which could be a cause for concern), Wade unpinned the grenade and chucked it at Peter. He swung the pole as hard as he cool at the flying explosive, and it soared into the open room. _ “Duck!” _

_ “Noo!” _ screamed Matt. From across the _ fucking building. _

_ BOOM. _

Peter fell on his ass, his ears screaming and eyes burning. His head _ burned. _ Christ, maybe that wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. His eyes were literally melting. His eyes were melting out of his head. Oh man, that really sucked. 

But it apparently worked. After a minute, his eyes cleared up to see every ninja that previously cornered him and Wade on the ground, unmoving. He finally composed himself enough to be able to scrabble back to a standing position. 

The first thing he heard was Wade laughing hysterically. “Ha_ ha, _ eat it Twilight!” he crowed triumphantly.

“I feel like I’m freaking Mulan right now,” Peter groaned. His ears were ringing like a bitch, and if he didn’t know better he would’ve checked to see if they were bleeding. Not taking any cover? Yeah, not his finest moment. 

He made his way over to Wade, who was kicking at the limp body of a ninja. Stumbling over his own feet, he asked, “Can you see if Double D has eyes on the commander, or whoever the fuck is running this? Wait, not. Eyes. I-... you know what? He’ll get what I mean.”

He waited as Wade relayed his request and did his own survey of the storage room. Aside from a couple stragglers in the far corners, most of the Yakuza seemed to be either knocked out, webbed up, shot, or (blegh) dismembered. But as far as Matt went? No response. No shout, no waving, no nothing. Huh. 

“Castle’s fine,” Wade relayed. “He was on his way out anyways--figured we got the situation under control after he saw the grenades. He’s far enough away that the blast didn’t affect him too bad.” A beat. “Red?” he called.

“You getting anything?”

“No. I’m kinda worried about that stupid bastard.”

Without thinking twice, Peter hauled himself to the top of the floating walkways, once again balancing on the rail. It took less than three seconds to find Matt’s body on the floor, splayed out with his head covered by his hands. 

Realization hit Peter so hard he almost fell off the railing. If that bang was deafening to normal people… it must’ve completely incapacitated Matt.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. His dread only grew when he saw the familiar sight of a towering ninja with a dark red head covering prowling towards him. “Of course, you would be behind this and of course, you just had to wait until the end to make a very dramatic entrance.”

Peter practically dove back to where Wade was waiting. “Matt’s unconscious. Big Bad coming. You take him, I’ll distract,” he rushed, hoping Wade got the message.

He didn’t wait for any argument to be made and webbed back to where formerly dubbed Big Ninja awaited. He landed directly in his way, cutting off his path to Double D while Wade got him out of there. But he was kinda off balance, twisting his ankle slightly. 

Peter hoped the baddie didn’t see his fumble. That would be really embarrassing. 

“Hey, man,” he said, bringing his hands up conversationally. Behind him, he could make out Wade scraping Matt up and beginning to haul him out. He needed to keep the attention on himself for as long as possible. “Big Ninja, right? Sorry, I’m not too good with names.” 

While he was still talking, Peter flicked his wrist and sent a web slinging towards the weapon in his hands. Faster than he could see, the ninja darted forward and slashed his sword to the side, out of the way of his web. 

Peter scrambled to the side when Big Ninja showed no sign of slowing down, hearing the hiss of metal through the air as he narrowly dodged a swipe of the katana. Hoping to surprise him, Peter tried webbing his foot in hopes of tripping him. No luck.

A throwing star sheared through the air, grazing Peter’s scalp just above his ear. 

Peter flinched, more caught off guard than anything else. Damn. 

On impulse, he rolled to the left of Big Bad and pelted him with impact webs, hoping one would land. That should buy him a minute.

An absolutely furious shout and the heart-wrenching sound of his webs being torn erupted from the ninja. Not a minute. Very much not a minute.

“I feel you would really benefit from anger management. Heard it does wonders.” Peter squawked and hightailed it just as Big Ninja somehow escaped the two impact webs that found their target, just so he wouldn’t get murdered right away. Glancing around furiously, Peter’s gaze landed on the floating walkway. A slight laugh escaped him. 

He snapped his wrist to the side, attaching a web to the support beam of the walkway, making sure it wasn’t too visible from the angle Big Ninja was coming at him from. 

“I’m about to make some people very very angry,” he muttered. 

Waiting till Big Ninja was just a couple feet away, Peter pulled on the web, sending the walkway crashing down. He hoped it would’ve landed on him, but he miscalculated how fast the man could move. 

Big Ninja caught up quickly. He feinted left with his katana but struck right. Thankfully, Peter’s spidey sense warned him quick enough to avoid it. Barely. 

Wanting to take the sword out of the combo, Peter dropped low and tackled him to the ground. A rush of air was forced out of his lungs as Ninja hit the ground hard, katana flying out of his grip. He wasn’t discombobulated for long, and quickly started fighting Peter to get on top. 

Peter had no plans on letting him, though. He dug his feet into the ground, letting his toes stick to the floor. “Are you mad at me? I feel like you’re mad at me.” Peter tried to find a way to web him down without giving him the upper hand. “Is this about the name thing? Look, I’m sorry about that, but everyone looks the same around here. Maybe you should-”

His hand slipped off Big Ninja’s forearms, accidentally letting him slip out of his grip. Peter swore quietly. Was it really taking this long to get Matt to safety?

“-think about ID cards. Would make things much easier.” 

Peter took a harsh punch to the cheek, sending him sprawling backwards. He grunted lightly and scrambled to his feet.

“Then again,” Peter panted, managing to block the next couple of hits. “I figure it would say about the same thing anyways. Big Ninja, Ninja 1 and 2, et cetera et cetera.” 

Big Ninja maneuvered them so he could easily swipe up his sword again. But before he got the chance to stand fully upright again, Peter ducked behind the reach of the katana and swung an elbow into his windpipe. “Who knows, though. It could definitely help.”

He was still close enough to hear the wheeze before the ninja choked out, “Do you ever shut up?”

“Wow, you can talk? I figured the silence was part of kindergarten Yakuza training. Then again, I never saw that bit in Ninja Turtles.”

Peter turned his strike into a chokehold and violently threw him to the ground, kicking out the back of his knees for good measure. He rolled out of the way of Peter’s web, and he was starting to wonder if this man had some type of spider sense himself. This just wasn’t natural. 

But if Peter learned one thing, it was this. The best way to beat someone difficult was by playing dirty. 

So he didn’t give the ninja even one second to recover. He snatched the nearest thing to him (which happened to be a sizable Amazon delivery, thank you Amazon) and swung it at the ninja’s head. The box practically dissolved, leaving shards of cardboard on the floor and dust all over Big Ninja.

Peter jumped on his opportunity and knelt on the guy’s chest to keep him down while he webbed his feet to the floor first. His mistake.

The ninja unbuckled something from his belt, and Peter saw the flash of a metal-adorned fist before it barreled into his nose. He doubled over and clutched his face on reflex, just for a blinding pain erupted from his jaw. 

Peter blinked back awake to find himself on the ground, completely undefended. Thankfully, he had enough sense to trust his spidey sense when it told him, in no uncertain terms, _ roll. _

He threw himself to the side just in time to dodge the fastest stab he’d ever seen. Instead of impaling him through and through, the Yakuza’s blade bit deep into his shoulder and sheared right through his costume. An involuntary scream ripped out of Peter’s mouth as his entire right side felt like it’d been lit on fire. One thought- _ fuck. _

Wade’s footsteps made their reappearance, snapping Peter out of the stuper he’d sunk into. 

“_ Hey _!” Wade roared, catching Big Ninja’s attention enough for Peter to attach a web to one of the walls and pull himself away from the ninja’s reach.

Glancing back as soon as he reached safety, Peter watched as Wade pulled out his handguns, lone ranger style, and emptied his clips. 

Big Ninja grunted, and blood splattered the floor behind him. So at least one of his bullets met their mark. Good. But before Wade had time to reload, Big Ninja darted to his left, ripping open a metal shipping container and slamming the door behind him. 

Wade chased after him at Peter’s yell, completely abandoning the guns. As he barged into the container and practically tore the door off its hinges, Peter staggered back to his feet, drenched in sweat with the deep cut stinging like a bitch. “Ouch,” he huffed. 

Peter’s legs were trembling as he stumbled to the storage container, just for Wade to pop back out as soon as he leaned against it.

“He’s gone,” he sighed, the disappointment obvious in his voice. “Sorry ‘bout that, Pete.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s fine, man. You don't have to apologize to me. We can catch him sometime later. I’m just glad he’s gone to be honest.” A rueful, albeit pinched, grin spread over his face. “I was kinda getting my ass beat.”

Wade shrugged. “He’s a pro. Probably been doing this for twenty years. You’re just…” He trailed off, waving his hands at Peter’s general form.

“A baby?” 

“No.” He got strangely still. “You’re just young.”

Peter stared at him, head tilted, and tried to decipher his tone.

Wade clapped his hands, breaking up the silence. “Well, I kinda just made sure Red was alive before I dumped him outside, so we should probably go give him the update. And make sure he’s not deaf as well as blind.”

Matt was sitting cross-legged on the gravel road outside, his helmet in his hands and his head bowed. The closer they got, the more Peter could see the blood running out of his ears and nose. He also had bruises peppering his skin, from his brow to under the rest of his costume, and a particularly painful-looking cut stretching from his jaw to the corner of his lip.

  
He picked his head up when the pair stopped in front of him, Wade collapsing on the ground like they’d just hit the beach. “Hey, kid.” He sounded like he’d gargled with rocks.

Peter winced and looked down at his feet, biting his lip. Guilt seeped into him, feeling partially to blame for his current state. He should've thought more before using the grenade like that. After all, Matt told him it was a bad idea. He didn’t listen. 

It was almost like Matt could read his mind. “No. None of that. Pete, look at me.” He had a deep frown etched into his features, and his gaze pinned Peter like a bug. “You don’t get to blame yourself for any of this. Yes, you were a tad reckless with the grenade like that, but without it, things probably wouldn’t have calmed down as fast as they did.”

He nodded wordlessly. It was enough of a reassurance to lessen some of the guilt, but he had the feeling he would still come back to it some nights. 

Sighing, Peter slowly sat down in front of the two, feeling like an old man as all his wounds screamed at him. His healing factor was already at work, but the large slash on his back was probably gonna take a bit longer than usual, considering he still felt like shit. “That's enough ninjas for me for a… long time, probably.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to deal with them much more now.” Matt tucked his helmet under his arm and leaned on it, blinking up into the sky.

Wade shifted uncomfortably as Peter turned towards him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, about that, Red.” He blew out a big puff of air. “The guy we suspect was leading the whole thing, the guy Peter called Big Ninja, kinda slipped out. They had an exit drilled through the floor or something.”

“I knew it. I knew- this whole thing felt too easy,” Matt said, a hint of anger in his voice. “I should’ve seen this coming. Nobu always gets away with fucking _ everything.” _

“Oh, calm down, sugar.” Wade threw an arm over Matt’s shoulders, leaning on him as he said, “Just accept that we kicked most of their asses. Not everything has to be a near-death experience. As Petey said, we can always find him later.” 

Matt popped his jaw, followed by his neck, visibly pissed off. Eventually, he bit out, “Did anyone call this in?”

“No,” Wade said, drawing it out apologetically. “I’ll get right on that.”

Fishing a burner phone from god knows where, Wade dialed 911 and gave them the most barebones explanation possible for what went down. He then chucked it over his shoulder when he was done, sending it skidding back towards the building. Wade pushed himself up and theatrically brushed the dust off his hands before offering them to Matt. Double D allowed himself to be pulled to his feet before toeing his helmet into the air. He caught it effortlessly with a soft thud.

Ignoring his tight, throbbing shoulder, Peter attempted to do the same. The second he tried to put any weight on his right arm, the joint gave way and white hot agony flashed through him. Sucking in a sharp, staggered breath, Peter managed to stand using his legs and uninjured arm.

Matt turned towards him abruptly at the noise. “What. What is it.“

Shit. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Matt narrowed his eyes and glared. A couple seconds went by, Peter trying not to let the pain show, before he cursed under his breath. 

“Red, what happened?” Wade’s voice was full of poorly disguised concern.

“He got cut. Bad,” he threw over his shoulder as he rushed towards Peter. "Nobu did this, right? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn't need to. It’s just a scratch. It’s... it’s fine.” Immediately as he stopped talking, his vision blurred and his knees buckled, sending him toppling into Double D with a grunt. “Or... maybe not,” Peter gasped. His vision blurred together and he went completely light-headed. “No, def-definitely not.”

“It was poisoned, Pete,” Matt breathed incredulously as he lowered Peter to the ground. Tremors started in his hands, slowly spreading to the rest of his body. He could barely make out what the other two were saying over the roar of blood in his ears, and the whole thing together was making him want to puke. Dizziness hit him like a load of bricks, even with him on the ground.

“The adrenaline must’ve worn off. Jesus, I should’ve noticed sooner.”

“Doesn’t he have that lady in his suit? That A.I.?”

“Dea...activated,” Peter managed. He missed whatever they said after that, white noise swelling and blocking everything else out. God, he was so dizzy. So. Dizzy.

Cold, fresh air, washed over his face. The shock of being unmasked like that helped tune back the rushing blood, and Peter opened his eyes. He never realized he shut them.

“He’s hot.”

“Yeah, I mean, he just got done fighting.”  
  
“ _ Fever _ hot, moron. That’s why he’s sweating so much.”

“Well, what do we do?”

“Take me home," Peter groaned, in control enough to answer. 

“No way!” Matt’s voice pitched, and he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or worry. “We have to go to- go to Claire, or Cage, or even my place for fuck’s sake.”

“I wanna go home.” He gripped Matt’s arm, hoping it would convey what his mouth couldn’t.

Matt was completely still before swearing violently. “Three hours,” he spat. “We give it three hours, and if you’re not better, we’re getting help.”

The lightheaded feeling ballooned from his chest until the rest of his body went numb and he lost his grip on reality.

Peter faded in and out of consciousness the entire cab ride home. Everytime something brushed against his shoulder, it seemed like it was being doused in lava. Matt’s voice was the only constant, and even that stopped when the cab rolled to a halt. 

Before he knew it, chilly plastic pressed against his now suitless body, and cool water followed soon after. He sluggishly peeled his eyes open to find himself in his bathtub, suit off and left in his boxers. 

Nausea rolled inside him, and he pitched himself to the side in time to vomit squarely on Matt’s socks.

Peter looked up to see Matt staring at his feet in shock. He was sitting on the toilet with his hand still on the water knob. Noticing Peter’s eyes on him, Matt snapped out of it and patted him lightly on the head. “It’s okay kid, don’t worry about it. We’ll clean that up. I’ll be right back okay?”

Peter nodded, the words making no sense to him. As soon as the bathroom door closed behind Matt, his head found the blissfully cool edge of the bathtub and stayed there, his heavy eyelids sinking shut.

  
  


When Peter woke up, he was in his bed.

He swallowed to find his throat was dirt dry. Pushing back the covers, Peter blinked against the beams of the rising sun and swung his feet over the side. 

It was morning? How had he-

Oh.

The events of the last twelve hours made themselves known, and for the first time since waking up Peter noticed the throbbing ache of his right shoulder. The fight, the sword, the ride home, the shower. The shower?

Peter staggered out of bed to find himself in a large t-shirt and basketball shorts. Confusion only stalled him for a moment before he made his way down the hall and burst into the kitchen.

To find Deadpool laying on the couch and Daredevil sipping a cup of coffee. Both still in suit, sans helmet and mask.

Matt smiled slightly at his dropped jaw. “Hey, kid. Glad to see you up.”

“Hi. You’re in my kitchen.”

Wade shot up from the couch, vaulting over it and careening towards Peter. As soon as he came into arms reach, he gave him a surprisingly gentle check over, talking the whole time. “My Lord, Petey, you scared the shit out of me. Seriously. I almost had a heart attack. You can’t do that again, you hear that? Not if you want me to live out the rest of my life.”

He nodded dumbly, only wincing out of his grasp when Wade’s hand brushed over the cut. 

Matt cleared his throat, interrupting the impromptu frisk, and waltzed over to the pantry. “Whatever shit he had on that blade seems like it’s mostly worked its way outta your system.”

Peter collapsed in the seat Matt just left, resting his head in his hands as a sudden yawn wracked him. “Shit?” 

“Yeah, kiddo. That guy you fought had a poisoned katana.” He emerged from the pantry, a packet of hot chocolate in hand, and opened the fridge. “Whatever was on it probably would’ve killed a regular person. God knows the number it did on you.”

Peter flushed, the vague memory of him throwing up on Matt coming back. Just the thought of it made him feel sick again. 

“Relax,” Matt said, with a touch of laughter in his voice. He handed off the hot chocolate and milk to Wade, giving him a shove in the direction of the microwave. “It happens.”

“Drunk person vomit is much worse,” Wade reassured. He slid the warm mug of hot chocolate across the table, and Peter took a grateful sip. 

His eyelids drooped as the other bumps and bruises he’d racked up made themselves known. But the orange light bathing the open room was soothing enough to distract him from the aches, and the surprising domesticity Matt and Wade displayed was oddly comforting. Peter let his mind go blank as he finished the drink.

“You guys can uh, make yourself at home, I guess. You already know where everything is by now, I assume,” Peter shuffled to the sink and washed his mug out. “I’m gonna go lay down, I think,” he murmured and rubbed his eyes. He shouldn’t be feeling this tired. He literally just woke up. 

“You should just go ahead and take the couch, Pete,” Matt sighed, “Wade warmed it up fine. Plus, it’ll let me keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t just randomly crap out on me.”

He laughed quietly and shuffled across the floor, face-planting onto the couch as soon as possible. His shoulder twinged as it bounced off the back, and Peter let out a low groan into the cushions. He was already falling back asleep. 

“You want anything to eat?” came from the kitchen. 

“Nngh,” he murmured into the pillow and then promptly passed out. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain the entire time writing this: no thoughts head empty
> 
> this chapter sucks and i hate it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys hanging any longer than i did - which i'm incredibly sorry about, btw.
> 
> unfortunately, chapter six marked the end of my prewritten stuff and i hit the biggest block of my life when it came to this chapter (like i went and started four new fics just to avoid working on this) so hopefully, Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, i can get my shit in check and be better about updating now
> 
> anyways, i appreciate each and every one of you! you guys' comments make my day! so be safe and stay inside and wash your hands <3


	8. you think you’re right

Patrol was going as good as it typically did—better than, even.

Peter felt fine after taking a day and a half to recover after the Yakuza fight. Peachy. Aside from the lightning bolts of pain that occasionally shot through his shoulder blade every now and then.

Landing lightly on the brick edge of an apartment complex roof, Peter sucked in a deep breath and surveyed the surrounding area. “Another New York night,” he said to himself and plopped down heavily, happily swinging his feet off the edge. 

Peter checked his web levels and nodded, content. There was enough to get him through the whole night as long as he paced himself. And maybe walked halfway home. 

A distant crash snapped him out of it, and almost instantly he was swinging towards the sound. Against his better judgement, Peter paused to do a flip for a kid who waved at him excitedly as he passed. The happy laugh that followed made it worth it, though. 

Peter focused on where the crash came from, his ears leading him to a local bank with its front window busted out. Glass littered the sidewalk in front of it, even straying out into the street. 

Quietly, he landed on the canopy above the busted window. He could hear a couple people moving around inside, accompanied by someone hissing, “In and out, come on. Like we said, man.” 

Peter really hoped the cops were already on their way. Maybe after the _ last _bank robbery he was involved with, the rest of the business owners installed a silent alarm or two. Maybe he should invest in a police scanner. 

Sighing slightly, Peter muttered to himself, “Let’s do this.”

Peter swung through the broken front window just to be confronted by a whole team of Avengers, sans Iron Man and Black Widow. The guy closest to him (Thor mask. Nice.) dropped his crowbar in shock.

“If this is some kind of protest against modern day capitalism, I'm sure the _ real _Thor would down if it was, you know, legal,” he said casually, and webbed the crowbar to the ground. 

He followed that up by sticking Thor’s feet down right there next to it and a swift punch to jaw. Hawkeye, who was crouched in front of the vault door at the back of the building, dropped the handsaw he was holding and bolted. Peter was quick to web the front door shut, making it so the only exit was at his back. 

Captain America was standing at the tellers counter and quickly got someone’s attention that was crouched on the other side, invisible to him at the moment. He watched as Iron Man rose from behind the counter, and that’s when he got mad. The two rushed at him, and Peter caught sight of the Hulk trying to slip around him from his peripheral.

Peter made good work of Captain Murica, taking him out fast with an impact web. 

But he let Iron Man get as close as he wanted. When he was about two feet away, he wound up and delivered a hard punch to the nose. The cartilage let out a large crunch and the man crumpled to the floor at Peter’s feet.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he muttered to the limp body.

He walked over towards Hulk like it was another day in the park. Hulk had other thoughts, and tried to make a break for the window now that Peter wasn’t blocking it.

“And what is it with the Avengers masks? It’s a little outdated, don’t you think? A little 2012? What happened to robbers being-” Peter attached a web to his pant leg and yanked, sending Hulk sprawling to the ground, “ski mask, black turtleneck wearing goons?”

No answer. All he got in response was the distant wailing of police sirens.

“Cool.”

Peter jumped out the window and swung off. A burrito vendor waved him down a few blocks later, and Peter gratefully accepted the free meal. It’s, what, 11 o’clock? The last time he ate was at six, so yeah. He was a little hungry. Rolling his mask up to his nose, Peter stuck the tinfoil wrapped stick of deliciousness in his mouth and swung off to find a quiet place to eat. 

He followed the 7 line for a bit until a flash of red and black night his eye. He swerved away and zipped to where the flash was in time to catch a glimpse of Deadpool. A burrito-muffled holler and a wave served as an attempted greeting, but Wade was too focused on whatever he was doing to notice. Peter debated swinging after him to say hi until he noticed how rampage-y he seemed, and promptly decided it was probably not the best time. 

Now that Peter was involved with the other local vigilantes, he seemed to see them a lot more. Double D especially. Peter didn’t know if he was making trips to Queens to check on him twice a week, or if whatever he was following happened to end up in his borough. Mr. Castle was a rarity, but ever since that first night, he made some sort of effort to say hi to Peter when he saw him. Wade seemed to stay pretty underground, only making himself known when he’s on a case or just in the mood to fuck with the police. He wondered briefly which it was this time then decided he didn’t want to know. 

With the next web he used came a jarring pain in his shoulder, shooting all the way down to his knees. He cried out and his hand slipped off the strand, and he began plummeting towards the ground. 

He was in the process of panicking, trying to figure out what was up and what was down, when he noticed a small, silver cylinder barreling downwards. “My burrito!”

Peter shot a web after it, using his bad arm and saving his fully functioning limb for the web he used to save himself. The stop was no less painful than what caused him to fall in the first place. He narrowly avoided smashing through the windows of the office building he’d latched onto by throwing himself to the side. 

He let go of the web and huddled together on the side of the building, giving a second to calm down and stop shaking. Peter reeled the burrito up like a fish, scowling viciously at it. “I really hope you’re worth it.”

Peter huffed and decided not to waste any more webs than he had to. He marched up the side of the building, getting some surprised looks from the people inside working late. 

After he plopped down on the roof, Peter peeled away the web-covered foiling covering his meal and balled it up, eternally thankful nothing got on the burrito itself. His phone chirped, and Peter pulled it out of the makeshift holster on his belt as he dug into the burrito.

  
  


**[from: ** ** _may ♡_ ** ** \- 11:31 p.m.]**

Hey sweetheart, I just got word and hopefully I’ll be home tomorrow! I miss you so much (^-^)

**[to: ** ** _may ♡_ ** ** \- 11:31 p.m.]**

awwwe, miss you too may. text me when you land n i’ll order some thai for us!!

**[from: ** ** _may ♡_ ** ** \- 11:32 p.m.]**

See you soon Pete ❤️

  
  


Peter smiled and set the phone down, finishing his burrito and wiping his hands on the outside of the wrapper. With a sigh, he laid down and crossed his hands over his chest. It was pointless to try and see the stars, but he found comfort in the noise of cars and the cloudy sky. 

Another notification lit up his phone. Peter lifted his phone up and was surprised to see a message from Matt. 

  
  


**[from: ** ** _DD_ ** ** \- 11:35 p.m.] **

Meet me at Josie’s bar in twenty. No questions. 

  
  


Peter sighed. So much for enjoying the peace. 

He was there in twenty-one. 

He landed on the opposite side of the street, seeing Matt in his Daredevil suit leaning against the outside of the building. There was a woman to the left of him bent over, vomiting into a potted bush. 

“You know, I appreciate the gesture,” he said loudly, staying on his side of the street, “but you’re off about five years.” 

“Ha ha,” Matt said sarcastically, and waved him over. “If I can stand the smell, so can you. Get over here.”

He bounded across the street as the woman stood up, whiskey bottle hanging loosely from her left hand, only to stop dead in his tracks when he got a good look at her face. 

“Thanks for holding my hair back, Murdock,” said Jessica Jones, glaring at his friend. “Appreciate it.”

Matt just shrugged. 

She finally took notice of Peter, but if she was surprised to see Spider-Man, she didn’t show it. “Hey,” Jessica said, swinging the whiskey bottle in greeting.

“H-Hi,” he squeaked. 

Jessica stumbled over to where Matt was leaned against the way, only looking like she was gonna fall over twice. Matt extended a hand, but Jessica was quick to bat it away. 

“Calm down, Murdock. I can still walk in a straight line.”

“Um, what-what did you want me to come down here for?” Peter asked shakily, his voice still too high to be considered normal. He didn’t take his eyes off Jessica, who was now taking a seat on the stairs at the entrance of the bar. 

Matt crossed his arms, frowning at him. Peter now regretted asking. “I want to know what you think you’re doing out and about like this,” he punctuated his words with little flicks of his hands, “after your _ situation _after the Yakuza fight.”

Peter shrugged, flushing slightly. “I’m fine now.” 

Matt was silent, and the frown only grew deeper. He fidgeted slightly under the glare, picking at his fingertips. 

“Mostly,” he amended after a moment. “I’m mostly fine. But you can’t pretend like you haven’t gone out with worse injuries.”

The scowl loosened slightly, dissolving completely when Jessica elbowed him in the thigh. 

“Foggy’s rubbing off you,” she snorted and drank out of the open bottle. “What he means to say, buddy, is that we need some help. We’re short one dude dressed in bright red spandex, so you’re the next best thing.”

Peter brightened, choosing to take that as a compliment. “Really?”

Matt huffed, clearly not happy with the arrangement. “You were _ supposed _to be out, so I called Donnie Darko.”

Peter choked. “Oh my God. I just heard you say that. I’m a witness. I’m a witness now.”

Matt flat out ignored him. “Fortunately for you, he got dragged into some shit his friend started, so he’s unavailable.”

Ah. Explains what he saw Wade doing earlier that night. Maybe. 

Peter cleared his throat, nervously looking from Matt to Jessica then back to Matt. “Just to clarify, uh, was Wade Donnie Darko in that metaphor? Because I know he’s a little-”

“Crazy?” Matt deadpanned. 

“Batshit fucking insane?” Jessica suggested. 

“-eccentric,” he continued, “but you know a lot of people, so I don’t wanna… assume, or anything.”

“Assume,” Matt said flatly. 

Jessica took another drink from the bottle, belching loudly before she started speaking again. “Anyways. Castle contacted _ me _for this little expedition of his, so I don’t know how he’s gonna react to you two showing up.” She glared at Matt halfheartedly. “Thanks for ridding me of my drinking buddy Matthew.”

He looked at her, offended. “I thought _ I _ was your drinking buddy,” he muttered, the definition of _ you just kicked my puppy. _

What Jessica said finally sank in, and Peter was suddenly reminded of the violent rivalry between Daredevil and the Punisher. “You didn’t tell him you—_ we _—were coming?” he asked, now thoroughly stressed. 

Matt shrugged, but otherwise stayed silent. That was the only answer he needed. 

Peter paled. ”Mr. Castle is gonna kill you.”

“He’s not going to _ kill me _.”

“Fifty bucks says he shoots you on sight, Murdock,” Jessica piped up, smirking at Matt. 

Matt stood up, scowling heavily. Even though Peter couldn’t see the top half of his face, he figured he was glaring back at her. “He’s not going to shoot me.”

“He’s gonna kill you,” Peter repeated. “He’s gonna kill _ me.” _

“He’s not gonna kill you, kid. For Christ’s sake, get a grip,” Matt scoffed, smacking Peter lightly on the shoulder. ”That ugly bitch needs all the help he can get and he knows it.”

Jessica laughed loudly and stood up, swaying. “That why you called him for help when you were out busting ninjas’ asses?” She pointed an accusing finger at Matt and squinted. “You? Are so screwed. _ So _ screwed.”

Something finally clicked in Peter’s head, a puzzle piece finding its slot. “Wait a second.” His hands came up, palms pointed outwards. “Your name’s Matt Murdock? Your full name?” 

He kicked Jessica in the leg, clearly not happy with his sudden revelation. Anger colored her features and she just shrugged in response, clearly not very apologetic. 

Matt sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yep. Taking no more questions.”

Peter’s eyes widened at his tone. “That’s fine, I wasn’t gonna as-”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here,” a gravelly voice interupted. Peter whipped around to see Frank Castle standing in the shadows.

Matt’s entire demeanor flipped like someone hit a light switch. His body tensed up as if he was dropped in the middle of an active warzone. “Saving your dirty ass from getting blown across the fucking harbour, Castle. Maybe you should be thankful I decided to prevent you from throwing your worthless life away.”

“Oh, so returning the favor?” Mr. Castle shoved Double D.

He was quick to return the gesture, pushing him so hard he stumbled back a few steps. “Listen here, moronic bastard, you know damn well why I called you there and it has nothing to do with needing to be ‘saved,’” he spat.

Frank roared and attacked Matt, almost instantly wrestling him into a chokehold. He slammed him to the ground, and Peter winced as he heard all the breath leave Matt’s body in a rush. He was quick to recover, and before Mr. Castle got too much of an upper hand, Matt swiped his feet out from under him, sprawling him on the dirty ground. He tackled him, pressing a knee into his chest and insulting him viciously. 

“So they’re normally like this? Just all the time?” Peter whispered off to Jessica, who was watching the exchange with a smile on her face.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

Mr. Castle growled and flipped the two over so it was him on top and wound up to punch him in the face. Before the hit landed, Matt kicked him off, printing a muddy footprint on the center of Mr. Castle’s shirt. 

“Boys!” Jessica interrupted before they seriously hurt each other, “How about, Castle, instead of beating his head in, you give these two fools the brief?”

“You don’t know it either,” he huffed, shooting one last murderous glare at Matt before attempting to brush the dirt off his shirt. When he realized it wasn’t coming off, he sighed and walked to where Jessica was sitting, finishing off the whiskey bottle. 

“But am I a fool?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He pretended like she never spoke. “Thanks, Jess, thanks so fuckin’ much for dragging the Dickhead and the kid into this-”

Peter stepped forward. “I’m- my name’s Peter, by the way.” He waved awkwardly. “Hi guys.”

Frank stared at him, unimpressed. Jessica high-fived the hand.

“Wade ain’t coming,” Jessica explained, validating Peter’s presence there.

Mr. Castle’s face twisted unpleasantly. “That’s a good thing. I’on’t trust him. Especially after Fisk contacted him and put a hit out on the kid here-”

Peter was quick to jump in, not wanting Mr. Castle to hold anything against Wade. “No no no, we talked things out, we’re good now.”

Scuffling came from behind Frank, and Matt bumped his shoulder hard as he passed. Matt took his spot between Peter and Jessica, rubbing his throat petulantly. “What is ‘_ this,’” _he hissed.

Frank rolled his eyes so hard the whites showed. “An odd shipment came into Harlem, I got Cage to check it out.”

  
  
“Why isn’t Cage taking this then?” Matt asked

“Will everyone_ stop _ interrupting me?!” he snapped. “He won’t _ take this _ because he’s _ busy. _ Same way your psychotic friend’s _ busy.” _

“Wade looped Cage into his shit?” Jessica asked, surprised.

_ “YES!” _Frank roared.

There was an awkward silence between the four of them. Clatter from the bar and the cars zooming past on the street to Peter’s back were the only sounds aside from Mr. Castle’s heavy breathing. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

A tense minute passed before Frank bit out, “Turns out Fisk smuggled a bunch of bombs to New York.”

“Bombs?” Peter squeaked, forgetting the whole ‘not speaking’ thing taking place at the current moment. Thankfully, Frank just nodded grimly. “Oh. Okay.”

Not a normal patrol anymore. Definitely, one hundred percent, not normal. 

“Then we better get going,” Jessica said jovially and popped up off the ground, almost immediately stumbling into Matt’s side. “I’ll be catching a cab. Text me where I’m meeting y’all.”

Matt turned towards her, grasping her arm tightly. “And I’ll be going with you,” he said firmly, leaving no room for discussion. Peter didn’t know if that was because he was worried for her wellbeing (doubtful, Jessica seemed like she could handle herself) or because he couldn’t stomach another second with Mr. Castle. Matt escorted her to the curb and attempted to wave down a cabbie.

“Well then, Mr. Castle,” Peter beamed, “guess it’s just us.”

“Yeah kid. Guess it is.” He sighed and cracked his neck. “Think you can keep up on those webs of yours?”

  
“Is that a bet?” he shot back, smiling even wider.

Frank huffed a small laugh and walked back into the alley he arrived from. Peter did the same in time to see him pull a dark tarp off a motorcycle parked against Josie’s. His eyebrows almost shot off his face. He didn’t hear him pull up.

Before he could voice his surprise, Frank was already flying down the alley, taking the sharp left turn onto the main street. Peter laughed loudly before jumping into the air and swinging after him.

Peter chased him down the streets, flying through the air at sixty miles an hour to keep pace with the motorcycle. Frank was taking shortcut after shortcut, unsurprisingly staying off the more well-travelled streets in favor of alleyways. The buildings here were significantly lower than he was used to, and Peter had to let go of his webs and run across the rooftops instead. 

In five minutes, Mr. Castle was turning his engine off and parking his motorcycle in a small, rundown building a couple hundred feet from the coast. Peter landed lightly on the roof of said building, perching on the edge and waiting for everyone else to arrive. 

Mr. Castle emerged with a large black duffle bag and an intimidating tac vest. He knelt on the roughed up concrete and tore the bag open, removing a large gun and gently placing it on the ground beside him. From his perspective, Peter could see a bunch of assorted parts still in the duffle that he was rifling through.

Peter dropped down from his perch and sat cross legged in front of Mr. Castle. He opened his mouth, a question sitting heavily on his tongue, but chickened out and closed it sharply. Frank looked up at the muffled _ clomp _ his mouth made, gaze sharpening.

“Wanna say something, kid?”

Peter opened his mouth again, brain stalling slightly. “Um.”

Mr. Castle raised an eyebrow.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Peter asked, his voice noticeably higher than normal.

Frank nodded and looked back down at his bag, setting aside two different cylinders.

Peter traced the web patterns on his gloves as he spoke. “I know you don’t really like Double D that much, but killing people isn’t really in my MO either. So, uh, maybe if you could. Not. Please,” he fumbled out.

Frank’s hands stilled during his request, and Peter met his gaze timidly. He didn’t say anything in response, and Peter kept talking to fill the quiet.

“Just for tonight at least. I mean, preferably never, but, uh, I know that- well, people ask me all the time to stop being Spider-Man and I know that I can never do that, so it’s probably really hard to stop being the Punisher. Or doing some of the things that the Punisher does, I mean. So-”

“Peter.” 

“Pete. You can call me Pete. Everyone else does-”

_ “Pete.” _

He looked up sharply, blushing slightly.

“I won’t kill anyone.” There was no waver in his voice. Peter nodded, and rubbed his hands on his legs.

Not even a minute later, a cab was pulling over on the curb, depositing a not sober Jessica Jones and a very unamused Matt Murdock into the alley. Jessica paid the driver and the pair wobbled over to where Peter was sitting with Frank.

“Can we get this show on the road or what,” Jessica intoned, kicking the ground next to Peter. “My tab’s still open at Josie’s.”

Peter laughed and sprang to his feet, bumping Matt‘s shoulder in greeting. Frank picked himself off the ground, scooping his freshly refurbished rifle up with him. 

Matt passed out familiar, small, black shapes out. Comms, he realized.

“Everyone try to keep it in this time,” he said and shot Peter a dirty look. “Sorry Jess, but you get Wade’s hand-me-down.”

She made a face but put it in anyways. Peter didn’t even try to hide his rueful smile as he rolled his mask up and copied her.

“Right,” Frank said, popping his neck. “I’m gonna set up shop on a roof near the dock. Take out anyone who tries to send out a signal or run. Jess, you’re with Murdock. You know the drill. Incapacitate everyone you see. Peter, you go scope things out. Find out where they’re keeping the bombs, where they plan on taking them, any information that seems useful.”

Peter nodded and glanced at Double D and Jessica. “I’ll go ahead and get a look at the place while you two find a way in.”

Peter attached two webs to the closest roof ledge and pulled himself towards it, launching himself off the corner as soon as his feet touched it. Peter closed the distance to the shoreline quickly, coming to a stop on a lamp post illuminating the dock Mr. Castle was talking about. From first glance, it looked like an ordinary dock. He sprang closer, jumping off the roofs of metal shipping containers till he was crouched on the light pole closest to the small, salt-stained warf building. 

“I don’t… I don’t see anyone here,” Peter muttered quietly. “That can’t be right, can it?”

“Just keep looking, kid,” Frank answered.

A splash of light caught his attention, and Peter’s gaze snapped down to the door of the building just below him. The door that no one was standing near. His eyes narrowed. 

How the hell was this thing opening?

All of a sudden, a man materialized in the door frame, on his way inside the building. Peter reeled back, confusion hitting him like a load of bricks.

“What the-”

Peter jumped from the light post to a stack of shipping containers opposite of the warf building so he could get a better look at the door. It opened again just a minute later, a new man emerging. He walked a couple feet before hitting some sort of button on his wrist and disappearing.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

“What is it, Pete?” Matt spoke.

“They have these- _ cloaking devices. _ How the hell did Fisk get a hand on these?” He climbed over the shipping containers so he could get a better look at the inside of the building. It was empty. “More than that, how did he get so many he could just hand them out to his men willy-nilly?”

“Okay, kid. Everyone’s in position. I’m attaching my thermal scope right now then we can start things for real.”

  
  
Peter nodded. “I’m gonna look for the bombs. Maybe they didn’t cloak those yet.”

He stayed high as he surveyed the dock. The fact that they could see him but he couldn’t see them was dangerous, even with his spider sense to help him. Frank gave the go ahead to Matt and Jessica, and Peter could hear the familiar sounds of a fight break out underneath him. Frank was a steady voice in his ear guiding the pair to their targets. The ones that didn’t attack them first, that was.

Past the warf building was a makeshift road lined by open shipping containers with six moving trucks lined up and ready to go. A loading bay of sorts. Peter landed on the railing of the waterline, spidey sense making itself known.

On instinct, he threw himself to the side and shot a web at the empty air in front of him. Surprisingly enough, it made contact and pinned an invisible body to the ground. “Okay. That was pretty cool.”

He sprinted past the trucks, webbing people to the gravel as instinct demanded, till he found one that was open.

A sharp gasp escaped him as he saw the sheer amount of explosives contained inside the truck. He blanched completely, feeling all the blood rush to his feet. If this was what was inside a single one…

Peter tore to the previous truck, blindly throwing a punch that connected to an invisible jaw. He ripped the closed door off its hinges, and dread sank into his chest when he was confronted with the same contents as the first one.

“Guys.” It came out as a muffled whisper. Peter swallowed harshly and tried again. “Guys. I- I found the bombs. It’s a shit ton of bombs. Like, half-of-Manhattan shit ton. This is _ so _not good.”

Jessica swore violently. “Hold on kid. We’re almost done. Just _ don’t _ let them go.”

As soon as she said that, three of the six trucks turned invisible before his eyes. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

Peter raced to one of the still-visible trucks and fought like his life depended on it, swinging everywhere his spidey sense even _ suggested. _ But despite his best efforts, this truck and the one behind it disappeared. The only one that he could still see was at the very back of the line, almost flush with the ocean. 

He sprinted towards it, but the trucks’ engines roaring back to life caught him off guard, freezing him in his tracks. The hesitation cost him, and the last vehicle had vanished by the time he looked back.

“No,” he whispered.

He jolted back into motion and took an educated guess as to where the truck was. Satisfaction burned through him as his webs smacked into the side of the vehicle. The truck’s engine revved and tried to move forwards, but Peter hauled it backwards The engine stalled, and he took the opportunity to attach the other end of the web to the ground.

He smiled grimly and ran to the next truck, feeling much better now that he had a plan.

Guesstimating, Peter shot another web at the next truck.

Just to have his web shooter click dully.

Peter stared down at his wrist, horrified. Nothing’s coming out. Nothing-

His spidey sense blared, and he turned around just in time to see a wooden plank come barrelling towards his face.

He blinked back awake a few seconds later to find himself face first on the ground, disoriented and confused. Everything snapped back to him as soon as he got a look at his surroundings, and he leaped back to his feet to find-

A loading bay void of any trucks. Even the one he stopped had vanished, leaving a slack line of webbing in its place

“No. No no no…” Peter stumbled forward like he was in a trance, not believing the vehicles were gone. He swiped his hands through the empty air as if he could make the trucks rematerialize by moving through where they once were. “No,” he repeated softly, voice breaking. 

The shouts of the fight behind him faded to a halt as he stood there in shock. Footsteps came jogging up to where he was standing motionless in the center of the pavement. 

Matt’s voice was tense as he called out, “Kid?” 

He didn’t move. Kept staring at the empty loading bay. 

The shock slowly melted into anger, and Peter balled his hands up so tight he thought his fists would explode, furious at himself for letting them get away. It was _ his. Fault. _

_ “Damn it,” _ Peter slammed his fist into the side of an empty shipping container, heavily denting the thick layers of metal. 

“Parker.” 

Peter looked up, his chest heaving angrily, and stared the two of them in the face. Matt’s mouth was pressed into a tight line, and Jessica looked the way he felt. Shocked, angry, disappointed. Embarrassingly enough, he could feel tears rising to the corners of his eyes. His entire body was hot.

“Where are the trucks.” Matt asked, his voice completely monotonous. 

His lip trembled. Blood coated his knuckles under his gloves. “Gone. They’re gone.”

“Pete, what do you mean they’re gone?” Frank asked, stunned. 

“They’re gone! I fucking ran out of webs and let them get away, that’s what I mean! They’re gone!”

Everyone froze completely, shocked at his outburst. He’d never allowed himself to snap like that in front of them. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized hoarsely after a beat, staring down at the ground. “This is on me, guys. I’m sorry. I knew I didn’t have that many webs left and I didn’t fix that before.”

Matt stepped forwards, and Peter braced himself for a scathing lecture. Instead, all he got was a heavy hand on his shoulder. “No Peter, it’s on _ all _ of us. We all have a part in letting Fisk get away like this. We shouldn’t have put you on the trucks by yourself. None of us could’ve stopped them alone. Not even you.”

He shook his head but stayed silent. He could’ve stopped them if he just restocked his fucking cartriges. 

Matt sighed heavily. “Come on, kid. I’m taking you back to my place. You don’t wanna be by yourself right now.”

“No-”

Matt held a hand up, silencing him. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Peter gnawed the inside of his cheek before nodding hesitantly. Maybe together they could find a way to fix his mistake. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was recently informed that tom cruise is a member of scientology. also i just ate an entire sleeve of saltines. do what you will with this information
> 
> also - never forget when i accidentally deleted over half this chapter and replaced it with this: s.


	9. time and space between us

Peter was totally numb the entire walk through Matt’s apartment building.

The whole thing felt like an out of body experience, like he was just a visitor in his own body. He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the bloody footprints that led the way to Matt’s front door. 

They reached said door to find it unlocked and open, exposing Daredevil’s apartment for the whole world to see. Matt locked the door shut behind the two as they entered, and Peter decided to follow the footprints. He emerged into the living room to see Wade aggressively pacing back and forth, wearing a rut into Matt’s rug.

Any surprise he felt seeing him there was muffled under the blanket of guilt and disappointment he was buried in. “What are you doing here?” he muttered. “They said you were busy.”

Wade’s head snapped towards him, just realizing he had company, and waved halfheartedly to Matt, who’d trudged into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. He hustled to where Peter was standing, frozen in the middle of the open living room, and pulled Peter’s mask off.

“Matt texted me on his way here,” Wade said, scanning him for any visible injuries. He leaned in close and took a good look at Peter’s pupils. “Said you needed help. What happened?”

Peter batted his hands away from his head, where they were running through his hair checking for bumps or cuts, before skirting away from him completely. He practically collapsed into one of Matt’s armchairs and buried his face in his hands, sighing heavily. 

His voice was muffled when he answered, “I let Fisk’s guys run off with enough explosives to reach the fucking moon.”

Wade’s silence was enough to jog him into picking his head up. Instead of the look of disappointment he expected to see reflected in his features, it was one of confusion. 

A toaster dinged, and Matt came out of the kitchen with a piece of toast in hand. He tossed it through the air for Peter to catch, and he snagged it lightly before it thunked off his forehead. He scarfed it down to avoid answering Wade’s unspoken question. 

“We went to help out Castle and Jess earlier tonight. The Harlem thing,” Matt began, dropping two more slices of bread into the toaster. “It turned out to be a lot bigger than we expected. They had cloakers that turned everything and everyone invisible, and Fisk got away with a couple thousand pounds of explosives. Castle tried to track them, but he was stationary so it didn’t work out.”

Peter popped his jaw, barely resisting the urge to grind his teeth. Why was Matt covering for him?

As if he could hear his thoughts, Matt marched over and took a spot across from him on the couch. Without his helmet and his face totally bared, his attention felt like a laser burning through the side of Peter’s head. “Kid, look at me.”

He exhaled sharply and looked up, meeting Matt’s surprisingly intent-filled gaze. 

“This is _ not _ your fault,” he said steadily. “And this guilt is going to solve nothing. I’m speaking from many first hand experiences. Okay? You have to trust me here.”

He stayed quiet, biting his lip. The toaster went off in the kitchen, but Matt didn’t move from his seat. In his peripheral, he could see Wade slinking into the kitchen.

Matt’s face softened, the intensity slipping away into something more mellow. “I know it’s hard Peter, but we have to focus on this now. On stopping Fisk.”

Peter let his eyes close for a moment with a sigh before straightening. He pushed himself up off the armchair and nodded. Matt was right. He needed to get over himself and pull himself together. New York needed them. 

“You’re right. We need to figure out what he wants with those bombs,” he said, game face on. Matt’s grim smile was comforting. At least he was doing the right thing now. 

Wade waltzed back into the living room with the two abandoned pieces of toast and three plastic cups of orange juice balanced precariously on the plate of toast. Peter thanked him when one of the cups found its way into his hands, but not without a quizzical glance. 

“Don’t look at _ me _ like that,” he chirped back. “This was all Matthew had in his refrigerator, aside from alcohol. Besides, think of this as an early breakfast.” Wade shot a look at the night sky through one of his windows. “A _ really _ early breakfast.”

Matt shrugged defensively as he grabbed a slice of toast, ignoring the juice. “I haven’t had the opportunity to go grocery shopping lately,” he grumbled. “So terribly sorry you’re disappointed in my choice of beverages.”

“If you were an evil mob boss convinced he can do whatever he wants who just happened to import thousands of tons of explosives, what would you do with it,” Peter muttered to himself, pacing to the large window illuminating the living area. 

“Sell it off?” Wade answered menially, apparently taking his question to heart.

Matt shook his head, joining in on the now-turned conversation. “There’s too much to get rid of it all, it would be chaos. Fisk’s too controlling for that.” 

“Even if he sold some and kept the rest, that still brings us back to square one,” Peter added. “Could he be using it for leverage in a turf war or something? As blackmail material? Or to take them out?”

Finally reaching for the orange juice, Matt once again shot down the idea. “It seems more likely that’s what he would’ve had the Yakuza focus on. It would be a lot less messy than blowing them up.” 

“So then what did he have them doing?” Wade asked, tossing his empty OJ cup in the air with one hand and catching it in the other.

The question sat heavily in the air for a beat. “Well,” Peter said dryly. He turned from the light of the billboard to face them, crossing his arms. “He had us mighty wrapped up in them.”

Wade sighed. “Well. I guess that leaves us with the more traditional use of bombs.”

“He owns half the property in Manhattan,” Matt said, nodding to himself with his foot tapping restlessly, “so we can rule all his buildings out.”

“Great,” Wade sniped back. “That just leaves four other boroughs to comb through.”

Curiosity prickled at him, a dull beginning of an idea forming at the base of his skull. “What exactly does he own?”

“Everything.” Matt threw a hand out. “Corporate buildings, apartment complexes, museums. There’s a reason we call him Kingpin.”

Peter’s mind raced, breathing speeding up unintentionally. Everything, huh? His brow furrowed and his grip tightened on the untouched cup of juice he held in his hand.

Wade’s eyes narrowed as he stared him down. “You okay there, Petey? Wouldn’t want you breaking any of Matthew’s fine china.”

“What if that’s it?” he wondered aloud, pacing back and forth from the kitchen counter to the window. 

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, kiddo,” Matt said. The slight attempt at a joke was overshadowed by the curiosity of where Peter was going with this.

“These places he owns. What if that’s the target?” he whirled to face them, hands gesturing wildly as he continued. “Fisk’s got an easy way in. No one would question his or his goons’ presence there. He _ definitely _ has insurance to cover the cost of any damages. In fact,” Peter snapped his fingers, “I’d bet a hundred dollars he recently raised his claims.”

“You think he’s gonna blow up his own buildings?” If Wade had eyebrows, the condescending look on his face would’ve come through much harsher. Even so, Peter still felt the effects. 

He wasn’t going to let this drop. He was sure he was right. Like ninety-three percent sure. “Think about it,” he said adamantly. “What does he have to lose? He _ knows _ we’re onto him, he knows we’ve _ been _onto him. The worst Fisk can do to himself is lose a chunk of cash and have to rebuild. 

There was a silence as his words sunk into the two sitting in front of him. Matt looked more convinced than Wade, so he cemented everything with, “He could even play it off as an outside attack to keep the public on his side.”

“Peter’s got a point,” Matt said. 

“But would Fisk really be this obvious?” he retorted. At least Wade wasn’t outright shooting it down. 

“He wants us to come to him. He _ wants _ us to figure it out,” Matt said firmly. Peter appreciated the support. 

Wade stilled for a moment with his head to the side, thinking. After what felt like an eternity, he was nodding his head.

“Fine,” he sighed trivially. “I agree. _Even_ _though_ I’m still a personal fan of the black market angle. Hm,” his face contracted into a thoughtful frown. “Maybe I could get my hands on something similar.”

Peter blatantly ignored him, pulling out his phone from its spot in his belt. 

“Who’re you calling?” Matt asked as the dial tone rang. 

Peter put it on speaker. “My- Ned, my self appointed Guy in the Chair. He’s really good with computers and stuff. He can help”

Ned picked up on the third ring, shooting things off with, “Peter, you should totally get on Sims like, right now, because I just finished making the best family ever and you will _ die-“ _

“Ned,” Peter cut him off with a laugh, his friend's voice lightening the stress hanging over him by loads. “I need your help.”

“Yeah?” His voice was confused.

“Can you access Wilson Fisk’s security cameras for, like, every property he owns without your computer crashing? It’s _ really _ important. Like ‘save New York’ important. Also, I’m with Daredevil and Deadpool. _ Also _ also, you’re on speaker.”

There was a prolonged silence, and Peter imagined Ned was silently freaking the fuck out. He finally answered after a minute or two, his voice an octave higher than usual. “You underestimate my RAM.”

Peter chuckled. Matt leaned over and all but screamed into his phone, “We’re looking for large trucks. They would’ve arrived within the last thirty minutes.”

Ned squeaked, “Is that-“

“Daredevil. Hi.”

Ned once again goes quiet. 

“I think you broke him,” Peter whispered. 

“Not broken. Very much not broken. I’m functioning at four hundred percent. I’m functioning so hard I’m already into the security.”

“Awesome, Ned,” Peter said and rubbed at his face anxiously. “Just really get into his mindset.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Ned exclaimed, keys clacking in the background. “I always knew I'd make an awesome super villain.”

“Right, so,” Ned said after a moment, “I’m looking at the cams’ feed for any and all loading entrances of Fisk’s buildings. And so far, I got an active delivery at three of them right now, and I’ve seen five other drop offs so far scrolling through the backlog.”

Peter shot Matt a confused look. “That means there’s eight trucks? That’s-”

“Two more than were at the docks,” Matt finished. “That’s not good.”

“They divvied up the loads?” Wade questioned, surprised. “Wow. Guess Fisk has more than one brain cell.”

“Red alert, ninth truck incoming. Delivered to Fisk Tower itself,” Ned said. “And, get this, Fisk is chilling on the top floor of Fisk Tower. The whole thing is literally his own personal office. God, I hate this guy.”

Matt sighed deeply and walked into his bedroom, reemerging with his own phone in hand. The expression on his face was not reassuring in the slightest.

Peter swallowed a sigh of his own. “Thanks, Ned. We gotta go. Like, now. Thanks again, man.” He hung up without hearing Ned’s goodbye.

He looked at Wade and forced a nervous smile on his face. Wade didn’t bother trying to return the sentiment, his features remaining totally impassive. He locked eye contact with Peter until the sad attempt at a smile melted away. 

“Hey, Rand, you got any pull with the NYPD?” Matt spoke suddenly, jerking Peter’s attention away from Wade.  
  
The tinny voice from the phone groaned. “I’m in a business meeting, man. Can’t this wait?”

Wait, Rand? Danny Rand? The infamous “Rand kid” that Mr. Stark warned him against? This was a welcome development. 

“No,” Matt shot back. “This is way too important to be beat out by a bunch of ableist white guys in suits. And I know you have pull. Why do you even have a meeting right now? It’s the middle of the night."

“I don't make the schedule. But nope, sorry dude, I _ told _ you, I’m in a _ business meeting.” _

“You won’t even have a business if everyone’s dead,” Matt snapped, effectively cutting off Danny’s complaints. 

“One second,” he muttered, much more subdued than before. The faint boom of a door slamming shut sounded through the receiver. “Alright, I’m alone. What’s up?”

Matt sped through the explanation, only pausing to answer Danny’s brief questions. 

“So you’re on it?” he finished up.

“Yeah. yeah, I’m on it. From the sound of it, you guys better get on it too. We might not have a lot of time.”

Matt nodded to himself. “Thanks, Danny.” He hung up the phone and turned to where Wade and Peter were sitting, expression pinched. “Alright, we’ve gotta move. Help with Evac.”

That stopped Peter in his tracks, mask gripped in his fist. “Evacuation? We’re not gonna try to stop him?” 

Surprisingly, it was Wade that answered him. “We don’t have enough time. On top of that, it’s just not safe enough. We have to get the people out first.”

Peter’s gaze darted to Matt, who nodded. “There’s not enough of us as it is,” Matt said grimly. “We just have to try our best. Get as many people out as possible. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped. “Mr. Stark, he- he can help! He’ll know what to do. I-I…” He trailed off. Dread settled in his bones. He disabled Karen _ days _ ago, and it would take too much time to try to get her booted up again to send an emergency signal. “I’ll have to call him,” he whispered, deathly quiet. Even Peter himself knew that would be a long shot.

“So,” Wade said slowly. “We’re on our own.”  
  
“What?!” Peter cried frantically. “No! No, I can get Mr. Stark, he-”

“Peter,” Matt interrupted softly. “He doesn’t have the best track record of answering important calls. You know this.”

His eyes stung, but he did his best to blink away the wetness. “So what are you saying? That we’re on our own?”

“No,” Matt said fiercely. “We’re not. Castle and Jessica have already said they’ll do whatever necessary to stop Fisk. We already have Danny whipping the NYPD into shape. We can _ do this _.”

Peter nodded weakly, feeling sick to his stomach. So much for his game face. 

Let’s go,” Wade said. “We got a ride waiting for us downstairs.”

“Same ride as before?” Peter questioned absently, flashing back to the Yakuza fight. 

“Nope,” he responded with a small laugh. “Different ride.”

Peter tugged on his mask and followed Matt and Wade out the fire escape, bounding down the staircases till his feet were on the dank pavement of the sidewalk. 

The window of black Nissan rolled down its front windows. “Get in, losers,” Frank Castle’s voice called, with Jessica’s sarcastic laugh following him.

Peter’s brain stalled for a minute, before he jerked towards the passenger side door. “Shotgun,” he breathed.

Matt shot Wade a resentful look. “This is your ride?” he asked as he slid into the backseat, now sandwiched between Jess and Wade.

Peter grinned at Frank as he shut the car door behind himself, the smile genuine this time. He was rewarded with a small quirk of his lips. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you in something that has more than two wheels,” Peter said, pulling the seat belt across his body. 

“Ha ha, kid,” he responded, deadpan, as he shifted the car into drive. “Just be thankful I didn’t hijack a minivan instead.”

A few weeks ago, Peter would’ve been absolutely scandalized at the prospect of even getting inside a stolen vehicle. Now- well. Times, meet measures. 

Wade piped up from the backseat. “I have to admit, that was the most intimidating Mean Girls impression I've ever heard. And you’d be surprised at just how many I’ve heard.”

“Where’re we headed to?” Frank asked, just narrowly missing the tail of a Civic. 

Just like that, all the pleasantries were sucked out of the air, replaced by nervous tension. 

“Well,” Matt said, quiet. “The biggest conglomerate of buildings is around Fisk Tower. So we might as well head there.”

Frank nodded, and the hum of the engine filled the rocky air between the four of them. The lack of snarky fighting between Matt and Mr. Castle just solidified the mood.

The Nissan pulled into a swarm of police cars spreading over 5th Avenue. Hundreds of people were already standing in their pajamas (or business casual for the poor souls who worked nights) on the dark streets and sidewalks. Most had a bag or two set at their feet, and the enormity of the situation hit him once again. “Holy shit,” Peter muttered as Mr. Castle parked. 

“Jaw off the floor, bud,” Matt said as he jumped out of the vehicle. “We got work to do.”

No one stared as the vigilantes filed out of the car. Really, no one even _ looked. _The five of them split, and Peter jogged up to the nearest officer. 

He’d barely begun his _ Hi, ma’am _when the officer interrupted him, waving a hand through the air. “We’ve already cleared these buildings,” she pointed at the surrounding apartments stretching to the next street over, “but you and your buddies gotta help us with the rest.”

Peter nodded and ran after Jessica. He relayed the officer’s words to her when he caught up, and she immediately disappeared into the nearest building. He saw a stream of civilians start to filter out from the corner of his eye as he chased Matt.

“I think this is the one time the cops haven’t been actively chasing us,” Matt said offhandedly when Peter finished. “I’ll get to Wade and make sure he knows where to go; don’t bother with Castle, he’s taking care of the perimeter and trying to locate exactly where the bombs are.”

Peter nodded. “I’m heading to Fisk. Making sure he doesn’t try to pull one over on us. Come when you can,” he said hurriedly and sprinted away, forcing his way through the crowd on the street with an abundance of apologies. He was pissed there wasn’t enough time to grab any more web fluid, but he just had to do the best with what he had.

He lunged into the Tower foyer and immediately plowed over a woman carrying a laptop underarm. Peter was quick to help her back up, and scanned over the people streaming from the top upper floors to see if anyone else needed help. Other than the general panic, most everyone seemed fine. There was even a police force in the lobby, and one of the officers said, “We got it, Spider-Man.”

Peter nodded, deciding to trust the capabilities of the NYPD for once, and refocused his attention on getting to Fisk. Everyone seemed to be coming from the stairwells. Why did Fisk have so many people working this late at night? Peter stopped a disgruntled businessman with a hand on his arm. “Hey, excuse me, sir, uh, do you know if the elevators are working?”

The dude didn’t even seem phazed to see Spider-Man standing in front of him. “What? No. Emergency procedures.”

A small smile crossed his face as he ran through the lobby, arriving at the intimidatingly large elevator doors. “I’d be lying if I said I never had a dream about this,” he said breathlessly as he planted his fingers firmly in the crack of the doors and _ pulled. _

The etched metal creaked heavily before it slowly gave way beneath Peter’s straining arms. Stifling a groan, he wedged the doors open just enough to slip through. 

He immediately stuck his hands and feet to the elevator shaft and began to climb. He spared a glance upwards, and the dizzying height he had to climb to almost knocked him off the wall. “Well shit.”

Ned said Fisk was on the top floor. So that’s where he must go. He speed-crawled up the wall, ignoring the slight pain in the joints of his fingers. The maintenance signs passed quickly, and before he knew it, he was at the top of the tower. 

“Oookay, Pete, just don’t look down, don't think about it, don’t look down.”

Peter looked down. His mouth went dry. That… was a spectacular distance to fall, especially with his web shooters out of action.

“Can’t say I’m looking forward to this repeat,” he said to himself.

These doors were even heavier than the ones in the lobby, and once he pried them open a couple inches, he saw why.

The doors seemed to be about ten inches of solid steel, with stout security bars reinforcing them. If this didn’t scream _ dangerous criminal, _ he would formally retire. Forever. 

He burst into the lavish office floor just in time to hear the echo of a door slamming on its hinges.

Peter surveyed the room the fastest he’d ever done, verifying it was empty before he chased after the sound. His ears led him to the roof access. Go figure. He raced up the stairs and through the access door, tearing it away from the frame. Stumbling to a stop a couple feet from the door, he turned in a slow circle till a large, hulking shape caught his eye.

“Fisk,” Peter breathed, his chest heaving.

“Spider-Man,” he greeted, turning his head over his shoulder, his baritone voice unnaturally loud. Fisk’s face was blank aside from an unnerving smile. “How nice to finally meet you.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to step backwards as Fisk slowly came closer. “Finally meet me, huh?” he said nervously. “Hopefully whatever you’ve been hearing came from TMZ. At least they like me.”

The low chuckle was enough to send a chill down his spine. It didn’t feel like Fisk was laughing at the joke. It felt like he was laughing at_ him _.

“What do you-”

“What do I want?” Fisk interrupted, head tilting to the side condescendingly. “I feel that should be fairly simple.” 

He took another step forward, and Peter cracked this time, matching him with one backwards.

Fisk spread his hands, a wide, mocking gesture. “After all, you and the Devil and that _ hellish _ mockery of a man made sure my friends would no longer play any part in keeping you out of my hair. What do they call you again?”

Another step forward.

“Ah, Team Red.”

Peter opened his mouth to make another snappy comment, only to be cut off by the access door banging open once more. A relieved sigh escaped him when he saw it was only Matt, not some kind of enemy backup. 

“Hey, man,” he said quietly. “Nice of you to show.”

Fisk’s expression dropped, all pretenses of niceties disappearing into the wind. “Daredevil,” he snarled.

Matt didn’t bother engaging in any of the stereotypical villain monologuing and cut straight to the point. “You can’t just blow up Manhattan, Fisk,” Matt said, sounding tired. “I’m not going to let you.”

”Yeah.” Peter swallowed hard. Blinked. Had to blink again before finally snapping out of it. “Staten Island maybe, but not Manhattan. It’s the money grab of NYC.”

Fisk clenched his fists, and, much to Peter’s surprise, began to walk away from them in slow, measured steps. He stopped when he reached the edge of the roof, almost indistinguishable from the night sky, folding his hands behind his back and facing them.

“Actually, on second thought, no one deserves this. Not even Jersey. Well. Maybe Jersey. But that’s the one exception.”

“Kid?” Matt said from beside him. 

His eyes flicked over. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.” 

“Okay.”

“I believe I can. And you can’t stop me. Because you-” Fisk’s mouth curled into a cruel grin. “You have no _ idea _ what I’m capable of.” 

Peter’s spider sense rose into a roar, so loud it nearly forced him into a wince. 

“PETER!” 

He whipped around, and after a moment of searching, saw Jessica standing on the roof of the building she’d helped evacuate. She was pointing at something behind him, and even with the long distance between them he could see the panic written in her body language.

He shot a glance back to where Fisk was standing, but he hadn’t moved. What was she trying to warn him about?

“It’s not empty!” she screams. “Beside you! It’s not empty!” 

He followed her finger till his eyes landed on… the neighboring corporate building. Not even fifty feet away from them. 

His head snapped back to Fisk, horror racing through him like a wildfire, and Matt gasped as he came to the same realization. A revolting smile spread over Fisk’s face. 

“No,” Peter whispered. 

And everything went to shit. 

He went weightless. The sky lit up so bright it could’ve been the Fourth of July. He was fucking _ flying. _

Peter hit the ground hard, head smacking into the ground. His lungs stopped working, and the starbursts of color etched into his eyes were the only things he could process. The world was completely silent.

His lungs jump-started back into action and he inhaled with a sharp wheeze, and the muffled roar of screams broke through the layer of cotton stuffed in his ears. A dull pain made itself known in his back and tailbone, and his bleary eyes landed on the ash floating through the air. He shakily pushed himself to his feet, swaying when he eventually got there. 

Matt. Shit, _ Matt. _

Wheeling around, he blinked the doubles out of his eyes as his gaze landed on a familiar dark red blob. Matt was kneeling with his hands clamped over his ears, but that was it. Fisk was gone.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a muffled _ crack _ followed. Peter reflexively braced himself before realization streaked through him. Fisk Tower was on the verge of collapse. At least, the top floors were. 

Peter jerked towards Matt, panic thrumming through his veins. A muffled groan came from the older man as he wrapped an arm around his midsection and hoisted him over his shoulder. He began to stagger to the edge of the roof as it rumbled threateningly. “Man, I really wanna stop having to save your sorry ass,” he mumbled slowly.

Mustering all of his strength, Peter threw Matt like a discus across the gap to the building next door. It couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away and three stories down, but his heart was in his throat the whole time. Thankfully, Matt was conscious enough to save himself on the landing. 

Peter stumbled back a few steps. “Come on, Parker, come on,” he said to himself, voice slurring. He shook his hands out, and ran towards the edge as the roof gave one more groan in warning.

He launched himself off the collapsing platform, feeling the cement crumble beneath his feet. For the second time in about as many minutes, he went weightless with no way to catch himself. 

Peter landed heavily on the same roof he threw Matt to, violently rolling as his body hit the rough cement. There was a deafening crash as the top half of Fisk Tower collapsed behind him.

The dust was settling by the time he slowly picked himself up. But was so off balance he almost went right back down, and his ears were ringing like a bitch.

He turned dumbly to stare at Matt, who was rubbing his temples with a tight grimace painted on his face. Wide eyed, he gingerly brushed the gravel from the numerous tears in his suit. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped to Matt, panting. “That? Sucked. All of that. The whole thing. Sucked. Majorly.”

“Well,” responded Matt, voice pinched. “It doesn’t seem like it’s getting any better.”

Something clanked behind him. “Hey, there, Spider-Man.”

Peter’s insides froze, and it took everything in him to turn and face the sickeningly familiar voice.

Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the percy jackson show is confirmed and this is the most i’ve looked forward to something in years
> 
> also just out of curiosity, how many of you are subscribed to my user? if you feel like commenting, lmk!!

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism is warmly accepted and greatly encouraged!! tell me when i do something bad or wrong so i can fix it!!
> 
> my twt: @wwebheadd


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